In Which No One Trains a Dragon
by Windsurf
Summary: Nothing came of that night five years ago, to Hiccup's bitter disappointment. Nothing changed. At least until now, and with his father's untimely death, his crush's ascension to the chiefdom, his worst nightmare up close and personal, and the gods' meddling, things have turned much worse. In other words: when HTTYD and adulthood hit the teens at the same time.
1. Chapter 1

There was a flash of blue-ish, purple-ish white and then there was nothing, nothing but the fire.

Everything was on fire. The neon oranges and unnatural yellows consumed the world around him, the flames reaching for the sky, like devil's fingers. The shredded houses were burnt orange. The midnight sky was ashy black. The low clouds were made of heavy, thick smoke. Even the green grass looked red, red, red, like blood below him. The acrid stench of soot and burnt flesh filled his lungs like a deep, spreading stain, making him choke. Instinctively, he drew in deep breaths, but there was no air to be found. Only the giant inferno.

Even the young woman beside him, trying to pull him up, blazed. Her golden hair reflected the flames and her expression burned with anger and worry and _ferocity_. Her skirt shone burgundy and her red shirt was stained, growing dark under the smears and drops of vibrant blood.

Her eyes, however, were the color of water. Cool, collected…capable of extinguishing every screaming ember in a single, crushing wave. Seeing them here in this Ragnarok was like being doused with a wave of soothing relief.

Stoick grunted as he turned, fiery side screaming with the rest of the world.

"Astrid," he spoke over the woman's senseless words. "You have to promise."

His voice was thick with pain, and blood. He forced the words up his smoke-clogged throat, past the red and black sludge, hacking them out. It was the last thing he had to ask, the last thing she had to do. She had to do it.

"Promise me."

He couldn't hear her over the roaring of the fire and the warcries of the humans and screams from the dragons that rang dimly in his ears below the sound of a splintering world, but he could see the words cross her lips. Four syllables.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to call _her_ Chief. He wanted to swell with pride at how she spoke the words sealing her path while standing amidst the flames that were her kingdom, with strength and surety. He wanted her to know how worthy she was of the faith he put in her.

"STOICK!"

Gobber hobbled up, axe-for-a-hand swinging wildly for a moment before the man saw the state Stoick was in. Jolly Gobber, crazy Gobber…his battle-brother stepped out from the flames that were the rest of the world, standing next to the young woman, face solemn, eyes unusually serious. Despite his head-in-the-clouds act, the blacksmith was much more firmly in touch with reality than he seemed, and Stoick was grateful that he was here, like a silent Witness, an experienced Guide for the young chief beside him.

Gobber stood by her shoulder.

The fire died down, the world becoming a black graveyard of ashy earth under his fingers. Stoick's eyes widened as licks of flames smoldered down and one of the silent silhouettes – one of his people – stepped forward. A slight one, a stumbling one…like a sick, wasted ambassador of rot and death, coming for the dying warrior that waited for him.

No, it was Hiccup! Not a draugr sent to drag him away, it was just _Hiccup_ who rushed to him, haphazardly swinging around weapons and narrowly ducking under the teeth and claws from above, hands held out to help, to fix him, but they hovered, not daring to touch.

Instead, Hiccup's oak leaf gaze sought out his. It was like looking into the eyes of a child – Stoick could see the sorrow and raw hurt, the listless wishes Hiccup always seemed to carry. Hiccup had always been like an open book, easy to read, impossible to understand – _like Valka, came a muted whisper_ – and above all, un-Vikingly. Vikings didn't wear their hearts on their sleeves. They never showed fear, but Hiccup's wide, shocked eyes were full of it. A forest fire blazed across their glossy surface, wild and out of control.

Stoick didn't know how such a boy was his son, but by the gods, _this was his son_ and he would see to it that Hiccup was protected.

The firestorm flared and Stoick could do nothing but take it, but the boy was safe, and the village would be safe and that was the reason Stoick didn't face it. He couldn't drag himself back up onto his feet. He couldn't turn his head. He couldn't speak.

He breathed in…and breathed out…and breathed in…and breathed out…and breathed in…

Astrid bowed her head in respect.

…and breathed out…

Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, High Terror of the Northern Seas, Slayer of Beasts, was gone.

Astrid snarled as she stalked in the direction of the fight, slim figure cutting through the worked-up crowd like a hot knife through butter. "Back off!"

No one heard her.

"YEH SLUDGE-EATING LIMPET, I'LL-!"

"-ARRRRRRRRRRGH!"

The audience gasped as Astrid _**slammed**_ her axe between the overly-muscled men's weapons with a 'shing!' and twisted, taking advantage of the weight and shape of her axe head to make the duo's pike and sword clatter to the ground. The men jumped back, suddenly seeming to realize that she was there and while her much smaller form was easy to ignore, the glare they received demanded their compliance.

Astrid's blood seemed to boil, just itching for a fight. She could already feel a head ache coming on.

"Ack, what happened?" she demanded.

"I tweren't doin nothing, Ch-, uh…" In a mere second, the stocky, red-haired man went from defensive to unsure.

Astrid yelled at Hiccup in the back of her mind for making her life harder than it had to be. "Astrid."

"Astrid, I was carting my apples down to the center when HE-" Ack thrust an accusing finger in the direction of the long, blonde-haired man in front of him, "-rammed into my wheel and then went on without so much as a by-your-leave!"

Indeed, Astrid saw an upturned cart with a swiveling wheel that looked about ready to hop off itself. Apples were still rolling down the hill.

"Sven, what happened?" she repeated, keeping her tone. Remember, treat both sides the same first. Then decide. Half the job of chief is listening.

There was a moment of silence before the other offender spoke.

"I was herding my sheep up the hill. A couple scattered and when I was running off after one, I ran into Ack's cart." While soft-spoken, Silent Sven was still very formidable as he glared back at Ack. "I did not have time to do anything else, but he stopped me from continuing to find my sheep."

Astrid took a deep breath, veins still singing with the need to leap and swing. "Sven, apologize to Ack for damaging his cart."

Ack was triumphant. Sven was stubborn.

Astrid slammed the butt of her axe on the ground, letting the metal ring against the stone. _"Now."_

"…I apologize for running into your cart." The words were grudging and Sven was definitely not happy.

But before Ack could do a victory dance and Sven could skulk off, Astrid spoke up again. "Ack, apologize to Sven for not paying attention."

Ack's mouth hung open.

Astrid gave him the exact same unyielding glare she had given Sven.

"I'm-I'm sorry for not paying attention," Ack managed to stutter out.

"Good." Astrid gave a nod of finality. "Now next time, both of you look where you are going. Sven, maybe recruit some young help to herd your sheep through the village. Ack, be aware of the people bustling through the same space you are. Are we agreed?"

As the crowd dispersed, Astrid stood still for a moment, watching Sven attempt to gather his sheep and Ack try to get all his apples. She knew what this fight had really been about: absolutely nothing.

Tempers were running hot. The village's irritation level was high. Already boisterous, the death of the Chief was pushing them to violent. She walked stiffly through the village, only half paying attention to the damage she was supposed to be assessing. The song in her blood was too distracting, demanding that she STOP. FIGHT. Mourn.

"HOARK!" she roared, a bit more harshly than she really wanted to.

The bulky man jumped, staring down at her from his spot on the roof, hammer in hand. "Aye…"

"Astrid," Astrid announced for the fifth time that morning. She jerked her head at the ground. "I need to speak with you."

Bright, sunny day, she reminded herself as the ladder creaked under the burly Viking's weight. Winter coming. Preparations to see to.

"Aye, Astrid," Hoark repeated once his feet hit the ground. "What can I do for you?"

"Winter's approaching," she told him, unnecessarily, but it helped her think. "Mulch just told me the storage numbers. Sven gave me a good estimate of the livestock a bit before."

Hoark's face sombered. This man had children, Astrid remembered. A five-year-old, a two-year-old, and another on the way. His children were never wanting for food because he was the village's best hunter, but that didn't mean he never worried. "It's bad?"

Astrid hesitated, unsure of what to say. She immediately summoned Stoick's voice in her mind.

"It's bad," she said, almost hearing Stoick's deep voice beneath her own. "At this rate, we won't be able to last the winter. When push comes to shove, we can sacrifice more livestock this winter and make up for it come spring, probably from the mainland."

"The Peaceable Farmers?" Hoark suggested.

Astrid nodded. "Even easier." She glanced up at the other workers on the roof, knowing that they couldn't hear her over the savage hammering but lowering her voice all the same. "Hoark, if we don't get more food, we're going to have to dig really deep into our stocks this winter, and then there will be no guarantee we can survive the next one. I need a hunting party."

"How long and how many?" the hunter asked.

"As long as we can spare," she answered. "In fact, I'm thinking we might have two hunting parties, ten to fifteen Vikings each. Mine will hunt on the island. Yours will head south. See what you can find down there."

She was hyperaware of Hoark's stare. "Astrid, we're getting very close to winter! We can't afford-"

"We can't afford the risk of depending only on the game on this island," Astrid interrupted. "I know winter's coming in a month. I'm counting on it to not be early, and I know that's a gamble, but we need this. That said, I only want you to stay out there as long as the weather's good. This is going to be quick. Get in, find as much as you can, and get back. I trust your judgment, Hoark."

"…Alright," he agreed finally. "I'll gather the men willing to go with me and find some good hunters to go with you."

"Thanks," Astrid said.

Hoark sent her an amused look. "Don't thank me, Astrid. Chiefs don't thank people for following orders. And you may not be the official chief yet," he added when she opened her mouth. She felt her grip on the axe strapped to her lower back tighten at the reminder. "But we're Vikings. We don't need a big ceremony. We trust Stoick and Stoick trusted you. You're already Chief in our eyes."

She nodded curtly in response as he turned away again, disappearing between the houses.

She would train at the end of the day, she promised her tight muscles and twitching hands. In the forest, just like she always did, she would vent her rage at the dragons on the silent woods. She forced the satisfying crunch of an axe landing deep in a tree to leave her ears.

 _Chop._

Astrid jumped, glancing around. That hadn't been in her head.

 _Chop._

Clueless stood off to her left, collecting the wooden debris and chopping the larger pieces into kindling. He nodded to her, black bangs swinging down into his face. She nodded back, eyes searching for his parents. A sharp bang made her look up at the roof.

"Hey, Clueless!" she called, deciding not to bother the adult Clorknogs.

"Hmm?"

Astrid felt that little knot of irritation tighten at Clueless's vague response. She didn't know where his parents had pulled that name from, but it was very apt, either because Clueless was naturally vacant or because he liked to live up to it. "Have you seen Phlegma?"

The blue-eyed boy thought for a moment. "Phlegma who?"

Phlegma Who-Did-He-Think? Astrid's grip on her axe became tight again, the familiar wood acting like a stress ball. "Phlegma the Fierce," she said with as much patience as she could summon.

He thought for another minute as his new chief stood to the side, her hands twitching more with each passing moment. Dear Thor, she swore as she waited for his dazed eyes to refocus, may I never have to ask him for anything ever again.

"Nope," he finally answered, dragging the word out. He glanced at her and shrugged. "Sorry."

Astrid felt less than charitable as she continued on her way, leaving the infuriating boy without saying a word. She couldn't stand his laziness, the way he always dawdled as though he had all the time in the world. Still…

Remember what Hoark said, she told herself, squashing that tiny little bit of guilt at her un-chiefly conduct. Besides, Clueless seemed completely unconcerned by her almost rude exit, if the mellow chops coming from behind her were any indication.

"Astrid!"

Time seemed to crawl by as Astrid saw to the village – like a nanny, she felt. Half the time, she was resolving stupid disputes over the dumbest things, ranging from 'he pushed me!' to 'that piece of indistinguishable-wooden-debris belongs to MY house!'

On the plus side, breaking up the fights did let her vent a little. She probably would have exploded by noon if she hadn't been able to hit some people with her axe.

She weaved her way through the village, the chilly air doing nothing to improve her mood. The Larsons had seen Phlegma a couple of hours ago when they were organizing a group of helpers to fix the storage house. Gustav volunteered that she had headed 'somewhere in that direction' in a voice that was a little too manly for a seven year old and with a head jerk that belonged to a teenager.

Mr. Larson shrugged at Astrid's questioning look.

Phlegma was not, in fact, anywhere in "that direction," Astrid found come midafternoon after she had scoured the entire area. She did manage to find Snotlout, who didn't even try to hit on her. Not because of her obvious irritation, but because the short but burly young man was too saddened by his chief's and _uncle's_ passing. And while Astrid was disinclined to think anything good of the boy who thought about nothing but his own muscles and hot girls, a part of her heart melted at the sight of him working diligently and complacently to fix the alarm torch that dragon had destroyed. Wood still crunched underfoot and Astrid could even see faint bloodstains on the grass.

She turned sharply, refusing to let anyone see the anger that twisted her face. A chief was always calm.

She found Ruffnut and Tuffnut cleaning dragon skins in front of their house. Tuffnut saw her first, throwing a sloppy punch at his sister to grab her attention.

Ruffnut gave him a feeble little shove in response. Like Snotlout, the twins looked like they had lost the heart to act like their usual imbecilic selves as they calmly skinned the Nightmare before them, butchering it and harvesting the usual parts with an air of mastery. It was weird watching them work together so efficiently, so quietly. So…maturely.

Astrid moved on quickly, trying not to think about it. There were plenty of things to keep her busy as the day dragged on. She set Mulch to work preparing for another fishing trip and directed a wandering and lost Bucket in his direction.

The sun seemed a little more mocking, hardly having moved at all.

Listened to Mildew rant about his destroyed garden and demand…well, this late in the season there wasn't much to be done about lost vegetables. Thankfully, a semi-sympathetic ear seemed to appease him.

She felt the shadows should have been longer.

Spotted Gothi reentering her hut, a fresh basket of herbs and medicines on her arm and spoke with the wounded, getting a feel for the medicines they would have to restock and the number of Vikings that would be out of commission for a while yet.

She hated that sun.

Checked up on her house, where her parents and younger siblings were working. Briefly glanced into the smithy where Gobber was literally repairing wagon-loads of weapons – without his flaky apprentice. Ran into Spitelout on his way down to the docks. Astrid's gaze flickered down to the hammer in his hands before moving out of the way and letting the gruff and grieving man continue his collection. Saw Fishlegs fixing the fence around his family's fields as the Ingermans kept the yaks inside. Finally found Phlegma the Fierce.

"Hello, A-ah, hello," the woman greeted her. Then she turned back to her family, who was trying to wrangle their flock of sheep together. "WATCH THAT 'ICCUP, 'E'S AN INQUISITIVE LITTLE RUNT!"

"On it! Here, sheepy-sheepy-sheepy! NO! Here, you little booger, HERE!"

The buff woman turned back to her. "Time to find a new hiding spot for the sheep, I assume?"

Astrid nodded. "Do you have any ideas?"

"A few."

Astrid stared up at the bright sky as the woman led the way down the mountain.

The day just dragged on, and on, and on. If it ever ended…

Astrid felt it never would.


	2. Chapter 2

No matter what Astrid and the rest of the village thought, the world didn't just stop. When something really important happens, it doesn't say, 'Let us take a few moments to respect the finest Chief to walk Berk's shores.' No, the happenings of man are not important enough to affect the heavens and the heavens are not petty enough to play their tricks on humans. As Astrid attended to the colossal damage the dragons had showered on Berk, even by the Vikings' standards, the sun actually did move across the sky. The storm clouds still gathered on the horizon.

While the lethargic village was forced by the brutal sun and chillingly nice temperature to make use of the turning day, Hiccup chose to ignore the cosmos's untimely gift of good weather. He retreated to his house, locking the rest of the world out, and let his own earth-shaken dimension wind to a stop.

Partly because it felt right to stop and just think about him. And to respect him. And most importantly, to honor him, because Stoick the Vast was a very important person to Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. And he had done so much for his people – _so much more than he had ever done for_ him – that Hiccup asked himself why _they_ refused to think he was important enough for them to pause, even for only a few minutes, and honor him, too.

But Hiccup could only tell himself all the things the Chief had done and all the things he wouldn't be doing anymore so many times before his mind wound itself into a new tiresome knot of: _what is going to happen now?_

Hiccup didn't even realize he had done nothing but ghost through the two-floor house, slowly collecting his father's items, until it was sunset, when the shadows stretched from house to house and everything the sunlight touched was tinted burnt orange. As he gazed out the window and down the blazing hill at the docks where the ships were being prepared, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled from the chill. The house stood highest on the hill, where the chief could look out over his village. The center just down the way, the houses all built higglty-pigglty everywhere that would support them, the innumerous kitchen gardens and pathways, the fields, the docks, the catapults, the entrance to the Great Hall, and the whole ocean.

The chair his dad always sat in was positioned just so, giving him a nice line of sight through the window when the chief had drunk his tea every morning and nursed his headaches every night. Now, Hiccup leaned out of it, his dark auburn hair turning gold as he craned his neck to take in every inch of his dad's village. For some reason, the sight was disappointing. He ended up ambling back into the shadows of his home feeling dissatisfied.

He puttered for a moment before deciding to approach the table, tossing a bundle of kindling onto the floor so he could sit. Stoick's helmet was the only thing he hadn't managed to let go of - yet. It sat on the table towards his dad's side and Hiccup half expected the red-bearded giant to stride in and say with his usual bluster, 'can't leave withou' this,' spirit or not.

A sharp knock made him jolt. "Ye-" Hurriedly, he cleared his unused throat. "Yes?"

Gobber opened the door and poked his head in. "It's sunset, Hiccup. It's time."

Spitelout, Snotlout, and a few others stood behind him. Presumably the people in the village his father had been closest to. Astrid was there.

"Yeah. Okay." Hiccup nodded at the spot in front of the door where a small, neat pile of things – his father's favored hammer, his vast mug, an extra pair of boots, his whittling knife, and a few other possessions – was waiting to be carried down to their owner. "Take that down. I'll be there soon."

Gobber bent forward to grab the hammer with a grunt. Despite the strain of the heavy weapon, his voice was still soft. "Alright, lad. Come on, boys and girls, grab something and go."

The small group shuffled in and out. Hiccup observed them in his peripherals, heightening his brooding atmosphere as he pretended to stare at the helmet so that no one would approach him, no one would look at him. The only one who sent him anything more than a glance was Gobber. The rest kept their heads bowed and their eyes on the Chief's possessions in their hands, expressions somber and…stoic.

Shockingly, the saddest expression belonged to Snotlout. Hiccup could even see the tears gathering in his eyes, but his cousin hadn't changed so much that he would let them fall. Then again, when he stepped in Hiccup's direction with a sensitive air Hiccup had never seen in him before, Hiccup did faintly wonder what had made his oh-so-arrogant cousin finally wake up.

Regardless, he did not like the way Snotlout's gaze went between him and his father's helmet. Hiccup caught his eye. "I will bring it."

Turning around silently, Snotlout didn't bother to argue. Then again, Hiccup had left no room for argument.

The door swung shut behind him.

"So since I'm a coward…I don't want to say all this private goodbye stuff in front of everybody." Hiccup's gaze flickered to the door, ears straining for the slightest hint of someone approaching. "This is…really personal, Dad. I never could say it to you." The corner of his lips tilted up. "Hopefully saying it to your helmet is good enough." He took a breath, head snapping to the door when the wind made it shudder against the frame. "I…I tried to be the son you wanted me to be, Dad. I'm sorry. I don't know, exactly, what I am. But I know I'm not…that. I'm sorry. I've known for a while, and I think you have, too, because…we both gave up."

The door shuddered again and suddenly Hiccup was hyperaware of the passing time.

"I wish…I wish I wasn't like this, Dad. I never wanted to disappoint you or make you unhappy, the opposite, really, and I want you to know that. Everything I did, I did it for you, and yes, it all went horribly wrong, and I'm sorry, but…I'm not you. You're amazing, Dad. You're so strong and you were smart to pick Astrid as your successor, and I'm sorry I couldn't be."

Footsteps thudded up the path, right next to the steps. A very familiar, stomp, tap. Stomp, tap. Stomp stomp tap.

"I…"

The footsteps stopped. He had maybe five seconds and the words he'd always wanted his father to hear, to know, came out in a rushed whisper. "I love you, Dad. And even if I wasn't the son you always wanted, I think…"

 _Knock knock_.

"Hiccup?"

" _I hope you loved me, too."_ Hiccup blinked, abruptly snapping his gaze away from the still metal and to the door. "Yes? Coming! Coming."

His time to mourn was over.

 **Welcome to IWNOTAD and thanks for reading!**

 **Quick fyi, this daily update thing is really rare. I will likely be posting once each weekend instead, but I had this written and so here it is.**

 **Comments on what you like, what you don't like about my writing are greatly appreciated. As I said on my profile, I am trying to improve not least so I can write more and better fanfiction. A special thanks to my two reviewers so far!**

 **InsertACreativeNameHere: Why thank you** **This idea of an AU in the canon verse is kind of one of the weirder ones. We'll see if I continue to keep it interesting! I guarantee that there will be a lot more of the twins. I love them and am so glad RTTE has finally given them some justice.**


	3. Chapter 3

Astrid didn't rightly know what had happened to Hiccup. In all honesty, she had completely lost track of him a few years ago. She remembered he had been all over the place, leaving a trail of wreckage behind him. He was sarcastic and weird and best avoided. She remembered one spectacular failure when he had knocked over – an alarm torch, she thought. It had taken out half the village with it and she didn't remember exactly what he had said afterward, but she did remember thinking, 'this guy is a selfish, two-bit show pony whose acts blow up in everyone's faces' and the almost subconscious verdict to make sure their paths never crossed.

She also vaguely recalled seeing him in dragon training, but the only image she could summon was one of him crouched behind a shield, his weapon's head about a foot away from hitting the stone floor. She hadn't bothered to pay him any attention.

Now, everyone was paying attention to the chief's son as he descended down the docks, holding the Chief's helmet in front of him. Gobber shadowed his shoulder as they walked down the path the townspeople left open, the way illuminated by the Vikings' many torches. Their lights cast the image of hundreds of candles floating on the harbor's waters.

Hiccup had grown to become surprisingly handsome, Astrid admitted to herself as she waited at the bottom of the docks where the ships waited with her. His rounded nose fit him well and his long face ended in a strong jawline. He had grown tall when she wasn't looking. His limbs, while not heavily muscled by any means, were finally more than sticks. He wore dark armguards now, their style much like the ones she used to wear, wrapping around the entire forearm and tying off at the middle finger. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the armguard Gobber wore.

It was probably a blacksmith thing.

Unlike Gobber, his upper arms weren't exposed at all, covered by the sleeve of a green-looking tunic that still didn't hide the subtle but firm curve of the muscle underneath. He wore shoulderguards as well now – leather ones from the way the lights shined on them. And a brown leather sort of…vest/armor thing over his torso that reached below his belt. It looked like it was made to hold bunches of tools – again, probably some blacksmithing thing.

All in all, he still stuck out from the crowd like a sore thumb. An intriguing sore thumb. Astrid's eyes followed him with a will of their own, finding a certain appeal to his physique that hadn't been there before.

And that made her feel absolutely appalled at herself. She should not be eyeing up Stoick's son at Stoick's funeral.

(She was more appalled because this was Hiccup.)

But she found it easier not to stare at all the leather as he walked past her when she focused on the unmoving form beneath the sheet – Chief Stoick.

Somberly, half his face shadowed by his bangs, Hiccup placed the helmet overtop his father's blanketed chest.

His father…it was near impossible to believe that the two were related. Astrid tried not to sniff or huff or give any sign of the tears that choked her eyes and nose. It wasn't the stressful weight of the village or the horrible, horrible day that made her eyes become glossy and she bit her lip, refusing to let it tremble.

She just wished he could have stayed longer. Stoick was a second father to her and now…it was over.

She pushed the memories of _what_ was all over away, focusing instead on the simple fact that their golden era was gone. Or more specifically, her golden era was gone. It was up to her now to uphold it for everyone else as Stoick had taught her to do.

She just wished he was here.

Forcing her eyes to refocus, she realized the traitors were on Hiccup once again.

You know, people often said that the dead lived on in the hearts of their family.

That was utterly untrue for the Haddocks. As Astrid allowed herself to give Hiccup a very thorough screening used for top assassins and spies, she didn't see Stoick's assured gait or strong posture. She looked for some sort of weight, or immovability to his figure, tried to find even a glimmer of the protective, in-control expression on Stoick's face. Stoick was intimidating, as a Viking chief should be, but he had always been approachable, ready to listen and help any who asked.

Hiccup was NOT _, he was_ -

Astrid Hofferson gave herself a strong mental slap.

Still, as hard as she tried, she found her attention drawn to the Haddock that was still breathing as he paused at the top of the gangplank, gaze lightly skimming the village. With a small grimace, she forcefully returned her gaze to the figure under the blanket. And she pointedly ignored Hiccup as he walked back down the gangplank and took the spot at the point of the archers.

(He didn't appear to notice.)

"Release the ships."

Astrid stayed still as the chief's son stepped forward and drew a knife, the hilt fashioned artistically after a dragon. Her fingers itched with the irritatingly familiar wish to step forward and do it herself and a few embers of resentment and anger heated up in her, spitting sparks in Hiccup's direction.

Abruptly, she reminded herself for the third time that this was Stoick's funeral. Stoick's event. Ignore his son.

Because she cared about Stoick. She did not care about Hiccup. It was easy to wrestle down the traitorous side of her that wanted to take a step in the man's direction and either slap him, or purr at him.

Actually, she strangled that part of herself.

(Look at the way he was standing! He didn't want to have anything to do with her!)

The current pulled the ships out into the dark water and let them drift , fourteen in total, ranging from six oars to twenty. Once they stepped back into the crowd and faced the ships again, Hiccup began to speak, his nasal, un-chiefly voice somehow carrying over the water and into the air where everyone could hear it.

"You are all strong and brave men and women. Berk is grateful for your service and knows that Odin and Freyja will welcome you with open arms. May your journey be swift and sure…"

Astrid concentrated on saying the speech in her head as the ships started to blend with the darkness, the words coming to her easily. She had spent nights memorizing this speech…during his training. Being able to say it for him, despite the fact that it was _Hiccup's_ voice everyone heard, felt fulfilling. Her mind seemed to clear as a deep sense of peace settled like a blanket over her mind. The torchlights in the water were mesmerizing, bringing her a moment of tranquility that tasted soft and sweet on her tongue, a moment so still that Astrid had never, ever-

The other archers raised their bows as Hiccup did, arrowheads aflame, and the peaceful feeling was gone, replaced by the itch and twitchy fingers. With a _twang_ , the boats caught fire and Astrid found herself staring at Chief Stoick's ship, half expecting it to remain dark and unlit as it sailed away.

It lit up just like the others and she almost, not quite, felt cheated. But she held Stoick's fate at a higher importance than her role in it. And she admitted that Hiccup did have a strong claim to be the one to conduct it.

' _He is MY father, Astrid, and I will arrange his journey to Valhalla.'_

She hadn't contested it so here she was. With the rest of the village, Astrid finally got to draw her bowstring back to her numb cheek. Flaming arrows filled the dark horizon like a meteor shower, as many landing in the water as on the vessels. Reflecting the brilliant lights, the ocean hissed under the assault and wood popped and crackled. The black clouds above prevented any stars from peeking through at Berk's private moment.

Berk's most bittersweet moment. The water had never looked so beautiful, and they had never gathered here for such a sad purpose. Astrid wasn't exactly a poet, but on an almost subconscious level, she could appreciate it. The irony. The moment.

The crowd dispersed slowly afterwards. It was time for the departed's closest family to say their goodbyes and speeches rose up from the lowest platform of the docks.

Astrid waited.

Gobber did no such thing.

"Stoick, you rascal, you left me here with everyone else!" He shook his fist at the distant flames on the water. "You, my very last friend…there's no one like you, Stoick. O' course, there's no one like me, either, but an island full of you would be a thing to admire and an island full of me would probably sink in a week. We're going to miss you, Stoick, but don't worry. Like I said, you left me behind and I'll do my best to look after everyone. Especially your boy." Astrid pretended not to see the subtle glance Gobber shot at her as the goodbye became more personal and out of respect, she edged away as far as she could. She didn't want every Ingerman and Hoarkson to hear her, either.

Ignoring his low murmurs, Astrid continued to wait. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the pyre ship that belonged to Stoick – the twenty-oar one. The very best they could give despite the War. Berk would burn to the ground before its Vikings would even think to give him anything less.

Her eyes slid slightly to the left.

Hiccup was waiting, too.

Gobber left.

As the ships went out, sinking beneath the waves or burning to ash on the surface, their numbers dwindled until it was just her and him, waiting.

They were not waiting together.

Water lapped at the dock. Astrid could feel the spray clinging to her. It was terribly cold, and almost completely dark.

Astrid stole a glance at his back, unable to see his face.

Hiccup shifted his weight to his left leg.

Astrid ignored the goosebumps crawling down her skin.

Hiccup crossed his arms.

They waited a while more, just the two of them. No people, no ships in sight. Not even the remains of a ship in sight.

For a moment, it looked like Hiccup was about to say something. His chest and shoulders swelled and Astrid could hear his intake of breath. Finally –

Then he turned around and walked away, not giving her a chance to say a word to him.

Not that she wanted to. Astrid glared furiously as he passed her, silently livid. For a second, she really couldn't believe it, that this was Chief Stoick's son, that this coward would say nothing to his father, not even a _goodbye_. How about an 'I'm sorry!' she wanted to shout at his back. Hiccup was smart. She knew that he knew how much suffering he had caused his father.

Then she remembered: he was selfish and irresponsible and she felt ashamed and outraged, purely disappointed in Stoick's place.

Her hands curled into fists, grasping for the handle of her absent weapon.

He had not had the right to conduct this at all! _She_ should have done it, _she should have done it,_ she should have given Stoick the ship and the speech, been the one to send him off, because his son – _Hiccup,_ her mind spat out like a foul curse – oh, he was, he was-

Astrid didn't know what he was, but she did know that he somehow managed to leave her breathless with rage.

She stood there, her hard demeanor holding back a crushing wave like a dam under pressure, as his footsteps faded out of earshot, wasting the night as she tried to remember why she was standing there – he was _distracting_ – until she abruptly realized that this was about STOICK.

Stoick.

The now-dark harbor and the cloudy sky blended together flawlessly as she stared across the horizon. The dark blues, deep blacks, and smooth greys were unmarred by so much as a single mast.

Astrid let her heart slow down and her chest relax, her deep breaths fogging up millimeters from her lips.

"Chief, I want you to know…"

That was the point of the goodbye. It was the final chance to say anything you wanted them to hear. But Astrid didn't have much to say, because she had already told him everything. Well, almost everything.

"I want you to know, that I will look after the village just as you have. I promise to make sure everyone is safe and strong. I will protect them from the harsh winters that threaten to starve us. I will lead them against any tribes who dare to attack us. I will fight against the beasts trying to destroy us."

The Vows of the Chieftain flowed easily from her mouth. She let them, thinking of his last wish. This felt like what he wanted to hear.

"On my honor, I will defend our island from any who would harm it. Berk will never fall before I do. This I swear before the Gods, the Elder, the Council, and all assembled here this day." She gestured across the empty water. "I, Astrid Hofferson, step up as Chief of Berk!"

The waters rang with her voice. It took her a moment to realize that the Elder was not there, nor the Council, or anyone, really. Just her.

But it had helped. The vows she had just made, that still echoed around her, felt so much more solid than the four word promise she had given him before in the rush and confusion of a battle. This had been important to say.

She realized as she stood keeping her quiet vigil to an absent boat carrying an absent soul, that there was one more thing she wanted him to know, that she had never explicitly said to him. She thought she had made it clear in the way she had followed his every instruction, how she had listened to every word. Actions were powerful, but easy to ignore or misinterpret (especially if you were looking to a _Viking_ for your interpretation). Nothing could truly replace a good sentence.

"I will strive to be a Chief as great as you," she promised the empty waves.

It was going to be difficult because no one had ever been able to measure up to Stoick before. It had been a long time since Astrid Hofferson hadn't been 100% confident in her own ability to succeed, but faced with a task like this, success seemed impossible.

Then again, if she could be half the chief Stoick was, then Astrid felt she would still be doing well by Berk, just as Stoick thought she could do.

 **Well hi there! Thanks for reading :)**

 **InsertaCreativeNameHere - Define 'pick up'? I'm afraid I have a nickname and it's Molasses...it doesn't help that I love worldbuilding and character studies too, which often get in the way of action. And thanks for the compliment! Yes, Hiccup is a little angrier and a little more bitter and closed off in this AU but he is still Hiccup. I'm glad that got through!**


	4. Chapter 4

Stoick was reasonably certain that this wasn't Valhalla. Of course, never having been in Valhalla before he couldn't swear to it, but the feathery-grey marble seemed a little too…classy. That was the word. The place was elegant and clean. Absolutely spotless, actually. Something about it screamed, 'feminine touch!' at him.

As he climbed to his feet, he stared around in confusion and wonder some more. The ceiling looked grey, almost like a cloudy sky, and the white marble pillars and steps somehow melded with the earthy ground flawlessly, giving way to evergreen shrubs and flowering plants, even trees. If Stoick had been one for poetry, he would have immediately sat himself down on a nearby bench and started scribbling furiously about the resolve of the earth between his toes – why wwere his feet bare? –, the prestigious height of the cloudy ceiling, and the affectionate way the duo intertwined.

But Stoick was not a poet, and he really was looking forward to a steaming hot, hearty meal (because when isn't a Viking ready for a good meal?), a tankard of strong ale, a roaring fire, and some great, perhaps legendary, company. He had honestly envisioned Valhalla to be something like Berk's Great Hall (even though it was really the opposite; the Great Hall had been carved into the mountainside in imitation of Valhalla's place in Helgafjell). He had believed Valhalla would be….better, somehow. Grander, and bigger, but still cozy, and with a throne for the Allfather, plenty of room to have a nice brawl, etc.

He stopped walking as a breeze blew against his bare head. Stoick scowled. Well. Maybe it was a waiting place? Something to do with the funeral, probably. Where were his boots and more importantly, _where was his helmet?_

With a huff, he settled down on a cold bench and decided to wait.

His huff echoed from behind him.

Then something sneezed.

Stoick whirled around.

"You are not him," a voice said.

"Excuse me?!" Stoick demanded, voice gruff and hand reaching for his hammer, or perhaps his sword. He growled when he realized that he didn't have those, either, and his eyes combed the room for the speaker.

"Who _are_ you?"

Stoick bristled. "I am Stoick the Vast, Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe of Berk, High Terror of the Northern Seas, Demon Slayer of the Barbaric Archipelago! Come out before me and show yourself!" he commanded.

Stoick unwittingly froze when a dark shadow detached itself from the shade of a little island of greenery, not twenty feet away from him, and stalked – well, it was more of a stomp – onto the stone pathway.

"You aren't him," it said again, leaning forward slightly to sniff at his direction. "You _aren't him_." It's tail lashed. "They said it was you! I can't _believe_ this, you get ONE shot – just one! – and not only do I get pointed at the wrong person, HAH! I completely miss! Oh, well, this is just _perfect_." It rolled its eyes, its neon green eyes. "Wonderful. Fantastic. How nice. Everyone will be delighted to hear about _this_!"

The pitch black dragon continued to grumble at itself, its tenor voice rising and falling with irritation. And sarcasm. And a hefty dose of sass. Stoick for his part was at a loss for what to do and just stood there, fists up and knees bent, at the ready for when the world would right itself again and the dragon would attack the Viking.

"-and just wait until Dad hears about this, oooo-"

Now it sounded worried.

"-he's going to be _so mad_ , and then there's Grandfather, oh gods-"

"SO!" a voice boomed.

Stoick and the dragon jumped in tandem.

Stoick had the feeling that if the doorway had had a door, the man – no, the _god_ – in the entryway would have slammed it open with a glorious BANG!

But there was no door and hence, the god had decided to announce his presence with an earth-shaking 'SO!' that echoed around in Stoick's head.

The dragon shook its own head hard enough to make its – ears? – slap around, obviously trying to get rid of the ringing, too.

Thor seemed completely oblivious as he approached them. "So…THIS is the man," he beamed, arms held out in the worldwide gesture known as, 'GIVE ME A GREAT BEAR HUG!' Stoick eyed him apprehensively, understandably just a bit hesitant to ignore the honorable speeches and the respectful bows and skip right to a jolly friendship with a powerful deity his people revered.

"Uhh…"

Thor clearly had no such reservations. Stoick's face nearly met the floor under the god's welcoming backslap.

"This is the great Chief of Berk, the Legendary Protector!" Thor circled him, blue eyes judgmental as he assessed the red-bearded man before him, a hand to his well-shaven chin. "Hmm…mhmm."

As Thor gave him a one-over Stoick took the opportunity to observe the god. He was almost shocked at the distinct lack of beard on his chin, but the man had long, blonde, almost white locks that reached freely down below his shoulders and a masculine jawline to make up for it. His warrior's outfit showed a strong, solid build, not as large as Stoick's, but perhaps more…proportioned, he admitted.

His hammer, Mjolnir, hung at his waist in the folds of his cape.

He tried not to pitch forward when the god's hand hit his shoulderblade again. Thor was back to beaming in front of him, his strong chin and cheekbones the only things preventing it from looking like a childish expression of delight.

"EXCELLENT choice, my son!"

"Well, _actually_ , Dad-" the creature hedged, trotting around the men in an effort to get in front of the god.

"Stoick the Vast, you truly are FORMIDABLE! FANTASTIC! It is an HONOR to meet you!" Thor declared as he offered his hand for a shake. "I am Thor the Thunderer, Bringer of Storms, Defender of Honor, the Patron of Warriors such as yourself!" he introduced himself.

So this really wasn't Valhalla, and this really was Thor. Stoick was far from put out about his afterlife arrangements if it meant he got to meet his favorite deity in person. With a broad grin, he grabbed the god's hand and firmly shook it, giving it a good, bone-creaking squeeze at the wrist as was custom. Thor chuckled with him as the god slung a friendly arm about the Viking's shoulders.

"-and if you really think about it, it wasn't exactly _my_ choice _anyway_ -" The dragon froze mid-sentence as Thor turned to face it.

"And of course, you've met my son, Rúni."

Stoick thought back. He remembered those last few moments of screeching and fire and the midnight black sky. He sent a hard look at the midnight black dragon, which shrank in on itself, as the realization of who this 'Rúni' was dawned on him like the dramatic dawn of a new era. It was very red.

"Of course," he answered, trying not to show how much he wanted to leap forward and wring Thor's son's neck. 'Rúni' looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, wearing a classic 'dragon in the torchlights' expression as Thor gestured grandly to him. He gave a little nod, his scrunched-up posture screaming 'AWKWARD!'

But killing his son would probably be a bad way to stay in the god's favor and it wouldn't bring him back to life anyway so Stoick decided to focus on the beaming man beside him.

"And it's quite the honor to meet you, sir," he answered respectfully. He wasn't sure what he had done to merit such camaraderie with a god, but he figured that he could ask as soon as Thor had exhausted his praises. In the meantime, he let himself be guided up the steps into an area with a circular bench in it, a bunch of long wheat grass at the center and tall, dark green plants acting as walls behind the bench. The dragon practically danced with hesitancy as it followed behind them, still muttering under its breath.

"You COULDN'T have picked a better warrior, son!"

The devil huffed in exasperation, giving another eyeroll. "Dad, I didn't-"

"Stoick the Vast, the man who slayed his first beast at the tender age of two years old!"

Stoick, like most Vikings, wasn't prone to humility, but when standing before a god, one doesn't simply lap up praise. Especially when one has delicate questions that may make said god disgruntled a little later. "Well, it was only a Terrible Terror, sir, hardly an achievement-"

"-because he didn't actually-"

"And who sent those barbaric Scots swimming for their shores when they dared to set oar in our seas!"

"My father was in charge of that operation, sir," Stoick admitted.

Thor scoffed. "NONSENSE, Stoick, you think I didn't see what happened from up here? The Allfather may keep an eye on you, my comrade, but he's not the only one! There's no limit to the number of patrons a person can have, and the more the better!"

Stoick was rarely at a loss for words. "That's-that's a tremendous, uh-"

"-and look at that! Surprise, surprise, it's like he can't even _hear_ me-"

Thor gave him an enthusiastic clap on the back again. "Of course, you had my father's favor since you were a wee lad, a promising leader already, but when I saw how you took charge of your panicking ranks and, in the midst of a tremendous storm, turned a bunch of sniveling codfish into a force to reckon with, right in the middle of the sea, Allfather!" Thor slapped the marble. Stoick was surprised the pillar didn't quake under his hand. "Fantastic!"

"Thank you, sir." There was really nothing else he could say.

Then Thor strode over to the dragon and gave it one of those friendly backslaps that were working their way up Stoick's 'To Be Avoided' List, right next to 'cranky council members.' The child of lightning – _lightning,_ Stoick remembered, _now it made sense_ – and death itself nearly collapsed onto the floor under the gesture, its knees buckling.

"You know, Rúni," Thor boomed, still grinning with pleasure, "I was a little worried about who you'd come up with at first, but you really pulled through, son!"

"Well, Dad, you see," the dragon continued, clearly uncomfortable with the way his father's hand rested on his back.

"When I heard you had been hit, I had wondered who in Midgard it could have been, but now that I see him… Rúni," Thor declared, practically brimming with pride now, "If anyone can do it, this man can!"

"But Father-"

"Yes, my boy!"

The dragon shuffled its feet, avoiding eye contact. "He…kind of…it wasn't-"

"There's no shame in being taken down by this man, son!" Thor turned back to Stoick. "Why, he could take on the gods ourselves if he thought it would help his people, and he'd do a mighty fine job of it, I dare say!"

Stoick nodded in acknowledgment of the shining compliment, feeling as lost as a leaf in the middle of a whirlwind.

"But _Dad_ -"

Thor strode back to Stoick, gesturing for him to take a seat on the bench. "Now, we don't have too much time, so I fear we will have to be prompt with the explanations if we want to get a good round in before my son takes you back."

"Daaaaad! Hellloooo~!"

"Takes…me back?"

"Of course!" Thor looked at him as though the inconceivable idea were obvious. "This is just a brief visit, Chief! As much as I wish we had more time, this is supposed to be a meeting for, business, of a sort. My brother is supposed to meet with us, too, but he's late – as usual. He'll probably insist it fashionable, but I personally think it just plain rude. Well, if he wastes time it's his own fault and that's that. We certainly aren't going to wait for him-"

Suddenly, Stoick was back on Berk, hearing _'NIGHT FURY! GET DOWN!'_ and smelling _burning houses_ , _ash_ , feeling the _biting night air_ _against his skin and the_ _hot surge_ _of adrenaline as he went for his hammer and a blood-freezing roar that made his hair prickle echoed all around him, dominated him-_

His eyes refocused.

White marble. A black beast stood before them, wings flared, eyes narrowed and teeth showing in an ugly snarl. _The offspring of lightning and death itself – the Demon._

If Stoick had had his hammer, he would have rushed forward and pounced on the beast, cracking its neck with one swing.

A couple seconds later, he admitted to himself it was a good thing he didn't have his hammer because that meant he hadn't rushed forward to slay the devil and therefore also hadn't angered the extremely powerful god who would have wiped him out of existence. Heavens knew he would do it if anyone dared to try to kill his son – even if his son was a Hiccup. He sensed Thor felt the same way about this…dragon.

His eyes slid to the left.

The god's jolly visage had melted away, revealing a dark scowl that strongly reminded Stoick of a storm front. In fact, the air around the god had almost seemed to turn gray, like the clouds of a thunderstorm.

The object of his wrath, the Demon, was almost cowering against the floor but the snarl and the defiant attitude stayed, palpable in the bend of its knees and the curves of its wicked wings.

"RÚNI!"

Leaves shook and the dragon braced itself against the force of Thor's thunder.

But it did remain standing. "I'm trying to tell you something, Dad!" it insisted.

"You know you are NEVER to do that here, YOU UNDERSTAND?" Thor roared with a voice like a hurricane. Stoick remained frozen. "Don't EVER roar IN THIS HOUSE, young man!" The storm died down as Thor took a deep breath, his grip on Mjolnir slackening. "Don't ever roar here, Rúni. You are grounded. Don't come back here until I tell you you can, understand?"

It pawed at the ground in frustration. "Dad! Listen to me!"

Thor whirled around to face the Night Fury again. "I am your FATHER! YOU, LISTEN, TO ME! NOW LEAVE!"

"You need to know, he-!"

"LEAVE!"

" _-isn't the One Who Shot Me Down!_ "

Thor's roar echoed with the Night Fury's scream, a distinctly animalistic chord bouncing around the room as a heavy silence descended.

"…"

"…"

"…"

An absurdly cheery voice broke the silence.

"Hello, Family!"

 **Welcome back! To Insanity. Otherwise known as the Afterlife. Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to reviewers:**

 **TheShardsOfDarkness2138 - Why yes, we do meet Toothless, or Runi as he is currently called :) And I'd tell you the other...but that would be spoiling it. (And I don't entirely know yet?)**

 **Kyndall - Thanks! It's always motivating to hear that people find this as intriguing as I do.**

 **harrypanther - Yes, Astrid is so mature and Hiccup is so beneath her. I kind of deviated from Berk in this chapter, but we'll be back soon enough!**

 **Dark Inquisitor - Thanks :)**

 **Aiacco - Thanks so much for the feedback! Hmm, her anger and her ignorance I would say. That and she's kind of jumped ahead and become an adult. HTTYD is a coming-of-age story, and since it didn't happen...Hiccup never matured as he did in the movie.**

 **I appreciate you all!**


	5. Chapter 5

Stoick's head snapped around to the speaker who was either utterly unaware of or more likely cutting through the thick tension on purpose.

He wasn't sure who this fellow was, but he was considerably less built than most people he had met and he sauntered over the threshold with an almost smug attitude, rather like a cat. The long spear in his hand clunked against the ground as he used the ornate weapon as a common walking staff. His black hair was brushed back to reveal a widow's peak and cut short so it stopped a little below his shoulders. Like Thor, he also wore a cape but his was a deep green and unlike Thor, he wore very little armor, preferring a strange black outfit of some sort.

"You don't have to look so put out to see me, Thor." The thin god smirked at the god of thunder as he strode up to the party. "Nice to see you again, Rúni." One pale hand brushed over the frills on the beast's head the same way an adult would ruffle a young relation's hair, making the dragon shake its head to rearrange them again. "And…Stoick the Vast."

As a set of sea green eyes assessed him from top to bottom, Stoick had a hunch that this god was distinctly less impressed by him than Thor had been.

"You're late," Thor rumbled, eyes still pinning the Night Fury before him to the ground.

"An important detour that couldn't be avoided, brother, and we have much more important matters to discuss right now anyway. _This_ is the behemoth who felled you, Rúni?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stealing a glance at Thor, the dragon shook its head slightly. "No, Uncle. I-I messed up, okay? Since SOMEONE-," it gave Thor a very pointed look, "-expressly FORBID me from ever setting foot on Berk, I had to send Trackers to search for him, and they gave me the wrong target." It winced, gaze flickering to Stoick for a moment. "He isn't the One Who Shot Me Down, Dad. His scent's close, but I know it's not the same."

"Oh good," the visiting god answered without missing a beat. "I was worried when I first walked in and saw this giant, hulking heap of muscle." He eyed Stoick's small forehead, clearly sizing up the brain that lay underneath and finding it disappointing.

Stoick decided he didn't like him.

"Brother!" Thor reprimanded, now glaring at the smaller god in Stoick's defense. "There is no reason to be so offensive! Don't you know who this is?"

The god waved his hand dismissively. "Of course. I said his name already, didn't I? Chief Stoick the Vast, a man capable of winning against mountains, with muscles made of iron and a will as strong as the branches of Yggdrasil itself. All very admirable qualities. I meant no offense."

"None taken," Stoick interjected, very much insulted indeed.

"But the warrior we are looking for, brother, is one of cunning. A giant simply cannot beat a gnat no matter how hard he strikes."

The dragon snorted. "Oh, thanks so much for that charming comparison, Uncle. Much appreciated, really."

"I can always count on you to enjoy my compliments, Rúni. Why no one else seems to be able to is beyond me." The god actually looked agreeable with a genuine, playful grin, but when he turned back to the two men, the grin was replaced with a serious expression that exuded a slight chill. "So as _mighty_ as Stoick the Vast may be, he is not the one who trapped Rúni."

Stoick didn't like the dark look on Thor's brow as the god looked to him. "Is this true, Stoick?"

But what could he do, except give the truth? "It is. I have never caught a Night Fury. No one has ever even seen one."

"Didn't anyone report catching one to you?" the smaller god pried. "Your people consider it an honor. Did no one brag about it?"

The two divine beings and the one of Hel – Stoick just could not seem to accept the Night Fury's parentage – turned to him. Stoick stared back, thinking for a moment, before shaking his head.

"Not a word. Then again, if…he," Stoick forced himself to say, "managed to escape, no one would dare to make such a claim without being able to back it up with…a body." He winced, eyeing the beast's father and trying not to look too cowardly. Thankfully, Thor seemed to take the fact that his illegitimate son was a desperately sought-after prize amongst the bloody Vikings fairly well.

The palace was silent as the gods thought and the dead man and his deadly killer waited. Although Stoick had no clue what they were waiting for. In fact –

"Why am I here? I'm honored to be here and have this chance to speak with you," Stoick added as diplomatically as he could, "but why?"

The brothers – although there was no family resemblance Stoick could see – exchanged looks. The beast shifted uncomfortably.

"There's nothing for it," Thor finally said.

"It's Fate now," the second one agreed.

"It could have been far worse."

"It could have been far better."

"I disagree."

"I don't."

"Stoick can do it."

"Perhaps."

"Maybe it's better this way."

"It isn't, but it is what it is."

"You just don't like him."

"That I don't."

"Rude."

"Honest."

Thor barked out a laugh. "Hah!"

"In this case," the second god conceded before turning to Stoick and going up a step, holding out his arms grandiosely, his cape waving behind him in a wind Stoick couldn't feel. Thor looked exasperatedly patient.

"Stoick the Vast," the god began in a grand voice, "you have been called forth to the Palace of Thor-"

"Uh, guys?"

"-to be tasked with a mission from the Gods Ourselves-"

"Guys!"

The god lowered his arms, sending the dragon a dirty look. "What? _What_ , Rúni? Can't you see I'm trying to give a presentation here?"

"You need to work on your style. You're too theatrical for the setting," the dragon deadpanned, briefly bold.

"Hmph." The god crossed his arms, his spear leaning against the marble behind him. "Now what was so important you had to interrupt me?"

"Well…before you go through with this, there's…one more thing you need to know," the dragon said, once again refusing to meet the eyes of the men. "Ah…there was one other…complication…" It crumbled under Thor's stormy look. "He dodged, Dad. I couldn't- I missed. He's…dead."

Stoick barely got to see Thor's face turn a dark burgundy before he was whipped around by the deceptively strong god of green, their noses mere inches apart.

"Hey, what are you-!"

The god ignored him, leaning forward to peer into a blustering Stoick's eyes, observing first one, then the other. Then he grabbed his ear and when Stoick gave an unmanly yelp at being man-handled so, the god grabbed his beard and squinted at his tongue.

"Stahp thha-UMPF!"

Stoick was abruptly whirled around again as the god plucked a few hairs, rolling them around in his fingers and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. Then Stoick lurched when the god grabbed his left hand and eyed it, mouthing whatever he was reading.

It was around then that Stoick realized who this probably was.

He tried to resist the urge to wipe his hand on his tunic when Loki finally finished his inspection and stepped back, nodding.

"He's dead alright. Complication indeed. Well, this changes nothing."

"What?!" The dragon's head shot up and it bounded to the green-eyed Trickster. "No! He's only here because I didn't realize it wasn't him until I had already flown him halfway here!"

"When you brought him here, you chose him, Rúni," Loki answered, busily going through the folds in his cape and pulling out the strangest of things – bottles and jugs, pouches, boxes, just flat-out _stuff_. Thor eyed the mess this 'brother' of his was making on his floor.

"I assume we can still send him back?" he asked, arms folded over his chest. His gaze settled on the busy Trickster as the dragon looked back and forth between them.

"Of course, he just needs a few items, and…where did I put it?!" Stoick stared as Loki started grabbing handfuls of stuff seemingly out of midair and tossing them onto the growing piles on the ground.

"No, but it isn't him!" the Night Fury insisted, dodging the flying junk.

"It is now. Don't argue this, son," Thor answered, still focused on Loki.

"But it can be changed, right? Can't it? Uncle, you do things like this?" the dragon asked desperately.

"This is a rare case where your father is right, Rúni," Loki answered distractedly. Thor made a noise of indignation. "The future comes from the past and the past can't be taken out. Well, it can, I suppose, but that leads to a gooey mess and so many repercussions you would never be able to fix everything, even if you had a thousand lifetimes. The Norns can't take their work out for this very reason, Rúni, and they're much more talented than I."

The dragon's head shot up at the mention of the Fate Weavers.

"And don't even think about asking them to try, Rúni," Thor warned. The dragon backed down again, looking sufficiently scolded. "You are going to fly this man straight back to where he came from and follow through with what you started."

The dragon nodded sullenly.

"Now Stoick," Thor continued and Stoick stood at attention. "While my sloppy and rude brother goes digging through his disorderly pile of garbage-"

"It's not garbage!"

"-I will explain everything to you."

Stoick nodded, taking a seat on the bench Thor gestured to. The warrior god sat beside him, elbows on his knees. Before he started, though, he called out to the Night Fury.

"Rúni! You will wait outside. I assume he came in a ship?"

"Yes, father."

Thor nodded. "Go watch it. We can't let anyone know of its presence."

The dragon huffed unhappily. "Yes, father."

It slipped gracefully out of the room and Thor took a deep breath.

"First, I want to apologize. I know what your death means for Berk and what Berk means to you. I can understand the drive you feel to protect it," the god said, eyes staring at the long wheat before them. "I'm sorry my son took you away from it."

An apology? Stoick felt thrown off balance as he scrambled for a response. As nice as the apology was, it carried very little weight _because he was still dead_. It went against everything in him to cross the gods, and he sorely did not want to disappoint the god he had always looked up to, but a Viking had to what a Viking had to do. "I can't say I forgive him," he answered, eyes also on the wheat. "As one father to another, I can say that I won't take vengeance on him. But the next time he attacks Berk…assuming I'm going back to Berk," because that still seemed just a little farfetched to him, "I can't just stay on the sidelines."

Thor nodded, ignoring Loki's cursing in the background. "I can't expect you to. It's a pity our lives clash so with each other, but you have been called up here to help with the solution."

Stoick turned to look at him. "Solution?"

"My son cannot live here," Thor began in the manner of someone about to start a long, tiresome story. He folded his hands, observing his fingers as they intertwined. "I cannot permit the other gods to know of his existence because…I fear too greatly for his future."

Stoick's eyes narrowed as he tried to puzzle the meaning of that comment out. Thor looked conflicted, glaring at the wheat before them again.

"It's a very logical fear," Loki assured them from a distance before going back to his search.

"Aye." Thor inhaled deeply before letting it all out in a great gust. "So he must live in Midgard."

"Why didn't you choose one of the other realms?" Stoick questioned.

Thor shook his head. "He cannot live in Asgard or Vanaheim in the sight of the gods. I will not send him to the realms beneath Midgard for I cannot keep an eye on him at all in there and I would worry over him too much." At Stoick's puzzled look he elaborated further. "The dwarves of Svartalfheim seek dragons for their labor and the elves of Alfheim are as relentless as they are fair, a cunning race. I will not send him where he will be forced to be a slave. I did briefly consider Hel's realm, knowing that he has strong relations there, but she does not keep a good eye on her borders. They're fuzzy at best and absent at worst. She is irresponsible and jealous – don't you dare interrupt me, Loki, you know she is –"

"She has right to be jealous," Loki murmured, his grip tight on the glassware he was currently holding.

"-and the bounty hunters of the Underworld would be able to reach Rúni with ease."

"I suggested Jotunheim," Loki commented as he peered at the label on a bottle.

Thor glared at him. "I will not send my son to the land of our sworn enemies!" He slammed a fist onto his leg before returning to the story. "And Niflheim and Muspelheim are too primordial. I would only send people there to die. Of all the places, Midgard appeared safest for him."

Loki snorted. "But the safest of places still have their dangers. Too bad we didn't see this one."

"The Vikings?" Stoick guessed, thinking of all the raids he had seen over the years. Men had driven themselves mad trying to track down the most elusive of dragons. The dragon trapping business had sprung up like dandelions during the summer. The number of people who would do anything to get their hands on a Night Fury, even just a single scale, must have been a terrifying thought for the Night Fury's protectors. "Us? We cannot touch him."

To Stoick's utter amazement, Thor shook his head. "Not you. I can keep him safe from the humans with ease."

"Not us?" Stoick exclaimed incredulously. "Not _humans_? But who, or what – what else _is_ there? The Night Fury is, is at the top of the world!" Stoick exclaimed, so put off by this news that his tongue stumbled over his words. "Who, what, would be strong enough to challenge him?" Another thought came to him, a slightly frightening one. "What would be strong enough to be able to, to stand up to _you?_ "

"There is a creature, a monster, on Midgard," Thor answered. "Tall as a mountain, so large a full grown man looks like a mere fish fry next to it," Thor gestured, pinching his forefinger and thumb together. "Its hunger is insatiable but it doesn't hunt."

Loki snorted again, still going through a pile of jars and bottles. "More like it's too much of a pain in the ass to bother getting up."

"Do you mind, brother?" Thor asked, turning around to glare at the Trickster.

"Nah, not at all," Loki waved back.

Thor turned back to Stoick, looking him in the eye. "It doesn't need to hunt. It lures the dragons in," he claimed, bringing his fingers to his chest, "like insects to a great flame, and eats them. Eventually it grew smart enough to realize it would receive a better investment if it sent the dragons out to hunt instead of simply eating all the dragons in the area. And this is how my son-" Thor's eyes squeezed shut and the god's lips curled into a snarly grimace, looking loathing and mournful and enraged all at once. "My son has the blood of the gods, but he is still a dragon and this nefarious piece of work has turned all the dragons into slaves."

Stoick felt breathless. Well, he was dead, but…"All of them?"

"All of them," Thor confirmed. "I am so grateful Rúni can resist the Demon's call to some extent, thank my Father. He describes it as an incessant, mesmerizing chant of ' _bring and leave, bring and leave_ ' that swallows everything else. But he is not completely immune to it and when the dragons are sent out to hunt for large game, he must fly with them." Thor twisted his head in aggravation. "I tried to _protect_ him from such things, kept him as close to home as I dared…and still, it's all for  naught!"

Stoick watched the god's hands turn into fists, the knuckles growing white. He had…no idea what to say. No idea what to even think of it all.

"Which is why you're here," Loki commented with a lighter tone, walking up to them with a glass jar held up to the light so he could observe its contents more clearly. "We were originally going to ask the One Who Shot Rúni Down to destroy this thing, since he, or she for all we know, achieved the impossible once, but I guess we're sending you in instead. Hold this."

Stoick accepted the jar Loki thrust into his hands, peering into it in an effort to determine what it was for himself. The dark color was indistinguishable. All in all, it just looked like a pile of gross.

"Why didn't you do this earlier?" he asked the two gods, too preoccupied with the thing in his hands to catch the quick glance they exchanged.

"No one was suited to the task earlier," Loki answered simply. "And we…were not ready to conduct it either. And I really need to label these things more clearly."

"Stoick," Thor picked up, "do you think you can defeat this monster, this parasite?"

Stoick chewed on his lip, the movement going unseen thanks to his thick beard.

Could he? A giant as big as a mountain with the power to control the dragons…a monster that made the Night Fury bow down like a common thrall, could challenge the wrath of Thor, and he, a dead mortal, was supposed to try to take it down when beings so much more powerful than him…couldn't?

"This," he asked, voice gruff, "is what's been plaguing my people, for three hundred years?"

"The dragons have learned how to deal with Vikings," Loki answered. "Your troubles with them won't be over. You'll still encroach on each other and fight with each other."

"But not like you do now," Thor interjected. "Once free of the monster's enslavement, the dragons will be far less willing to take the risks of a raid. Attacks will decrease. They won't be gone, but they will avoid you as much as they can."

"Only the truly desperate ones will bother you," Loki concluded. "But right now, they're all desperate. What is your answer, Stoick?"

His answer, Stoick felt, was obvious.

"I don't know how on Midgard I'm going to kill it. But we're Vikings and we're damn well going to try. And if we don't succeed," he said, because success seemed like a ridiculously long shot, "at least everything will be prepared so that one of our descendants will."

Thor started to beam like a child at Snoggletog again. Loki wore a mixture of a smirk and a grin, looking more pleased than jubilant. "That'll do it," the god of thunder crowed, slamming a hand onto Stoick's back. Stoick lurched forward, feeling everything in him quake from the hit, but he was grinning, too. "Loki?"

The jar was snatched out of Stoick's grip and Stoick was snatched out of his seat as Loki unscrewed the lid. "Thor, 'old 'im 'own for 'e," the Trickster spoke around the cap in his mouth. He spat it out and pulled a third container from the crook of his arm, dumping this and that into it in a fashion that seemed extremely haphazard to Stoick.

"Er…what are you doing?"

Thor smiled cheerfully as he held Stoick's arms to his sides in a grip like a vice. "Loki's just fixing you up for an extended stay on Midgard. Just relax."

Stoick did not relax. He thought it to his credit that he didn't struggle – too much.

"Brother, you'd better leave the explanations to me on this one," Loki said as he stirred the foul-looking paste with his fingers. "Basically, you're dead, Stoick."

"I could have told him that," Thor huffed.

Loki glared. "Silence, O Unknowledgeable One!" He flicked some of the nasty stuff in Thor's direction, and hence in Stoick's direction and the Viking Chief flinched when it landed right on his face. "So you're dead, which means you no longer belong on Midgard. But where do you belong? Now that is an excellent question. There is, of course, the part of you that will always be 'Stoick the Vast,'" he said, imitating Stoick's rough voice before licking the second concoction – a rough powder – on his fingers and pulling a face. "Eugh. Anyway, that distinctly human character belongs in Helheim somewhere, probably below Berk itself where it will linger just out of reach of the village. Then there's your hamingya, your 'luck.' Hamingya are a strange bunch. Very good at getting lost and they tend to wander around a lot."

Loki sniffed at the powder again. "A-CHOO!" He sniffed again. "Whoops, too much gecko gullet. Anyway, hamingya are hard to sense, but they make terrible conversationalists anyway so it's no loss. They aren't very smart, too fixated on the search for their human soul to realize much else. It's kind of like dealing with a devoted dog searching for its master. That's why they generally settle in a descendant with the same name as the ancestor they belonged to. Can't tell the difference.

"And there's the fylgja, which I'm sure you've heard of," Loki said, leaning in to stare into Stoick's eyes again. He tsked. Stoick didn't know what he was seeing, but apparently it wasn't very good. Loki worked faster, making a third potion, this one looking like some sort of liquid.

"Wanna guess what it is?" Loki asked, grinning like a little boy at a festival game.

"A bear?" Stoick tried.

Loki threw his head back and laughed – no, he cackled, Stoick corrected himself. "Not even close! Not even close…You know what? I don't think I'm going to tell you what it is, simply because you'll be upset and we don't have time for you to be upset."

"Now that is just mean," Thor protested. Stoick nodded in agreement.

"I'm not nice," Loki answered, not sounding sorry at all. "You'll find out soon enough anyway, Stoick. But basically, the soul is comprised of millions upon millions of pieces. Even the three we just discussed can be disassembled into smaller bits; for example, the soul can be split into the will and the desire and these can in turn be split again. When a mortal dies, all these pieces start to drift apart. Give it a week or two and they'll be on opposite sides of Yggdrasil."

"So that's what's happening to me?" Stoick asked, giving the three jars that were for Loki-knew-what an apprehensive look. All of a sudden being dead seemed less like the next step in life and more like a nightmare. He could just envision him in pieces, an arm floating around in the clouds, a leg hopping down a road in Helheim. He shivered. Ugh.

"And we can't send our great Champion to Midgard in pieces," Loki confirmed. "It would send everyone running for the hills – or the waves, as it were. So the first thing we're going to do is give them a little reinforcement."

"With one of those?" Stoick nodded reluctantly at the jars. The liquid was glowing. And he swore one of the goos was blinking at him. The last one, the one that made Stoick's beard curl from distaste as though he were staring at month-old rotten fish heads…it was _baby girl pink_.

"Nope. With a whole lot of this."

Both Stoick and Thor stared at the white bottle in Loki's hand as he twisted the orange cap and squirted a bit of unappealing, viscous white stuff out of the top.

Thor was incredulous. "Loki! You didn't-"

"I'm telling you, this stuff works _wonders_ , Thor. Now Stoick, you're going to have to bear with me here. I know it isn't particularly pleasant to be coated in Superglue, but it's necessary."

 **So because it's a three-day weekend out here (and partly because I left you guys at a confusing cliff-hanger, but mostly because it's a three-day weekend) I got another chapter out! I feel obliged to point out the length is highly unusual and won't occur for most, if any other, updates.**

 **Anywho, yes. My secret's out. I am a weird weirdo who does weird worldbuilding. It all makes sense in some twisted, warped way - but I like to drop hints here and there and make my readers draw the connections themselves rather than tell it straight out. Keeps it interesting that way :)**

 **Thanks to readers, followers, favoriters, and especially reviewers!**

 **InsertACreativeNameHere - You're sweet 3 Balance is tough; since I stink at writing action, I know I tend to lean more towards character building. Also, THANK YOU so much for making that connection between Stoick and Hiccup and Thor and Runi! That was EXACTLY what I was going for and I literally pranced off to do the vacuuming when I read that! Made my day :')**

 **Stripesicles222 - Oh, he's dead alright. Thor was making an awful lot of assumptions and it just killed Runi to tell him the truth. The burned body is a good question; I never really thought about that. I read that dragons were thought to carry souls to the lands of the dead in some cultures so Runi was supposed to kind of stun him out of his skin and take him for a little trip. Buuuut he missed and Stoick's dead and by the laws of the afterlife everything that burns reappears exactly as it was in the supernatural realms. Lets' go with that.**

 **Aiacco - If you are confused...then I have succeeded *insert evil chuckle*. Naw, it's Thor who's confused. And you...are absolutely right! It IS the Tom Hiddleston Loki. Not gonna lie, when I was writing this, I just pictured Thor and Loki from the Marvel movie-verse, so very nice call! Also, your English is very understandable, so kudos to you :)**

 **NightsAnger - Ta-daaa! Hopefully this chapter smoothed out some things. Thor and Stoick were very confused too :D**

 **TheShardsofDarkness2138 - Nope, no second Night Fury just Loki the Trickster. And Hiccup did indeed shoot Toothless/Runi down, but since Runi escaped before he reached him...it was a crushing moment for our hero.**

 **SharKohen - See explanation above for weirdness :p And it only gets weirder! But seriously, yep, Runi is our beloved Toothless even if he hasn't gotten his nickname yet. Glad to hear you liked the funeral :)**

 **Happy Independence Day, America!**


	6. Chapter 6

Snotlout shut the door to his house – well, his _home_ , really, it wasn't _his_ house – as gently as he could, not bothering to hide a gigantic yawn that made his eyes screw shut. His stomach rumbled like thunder in the silent house, too, making his agenda clear: a good meal and then a good night's rest.

The fire in the hearth crackled and popped as he silently tip-toed his way across the house to the door that led to the cellar. He cast furtive glances at the partition that separated his parents' sleeping area from the main area of the house. Hopefully, the flickering shadows wouldn't wake anyone and he could get to bed in peace.

Just to be extra careful, he made sure to walk on the ends of the floorboards where they didn't squeak as much.

Humming as quietly as he could, he softly propped the door open and slid into the opening, lighting the candle placed beside the door.

' _Shink!'_

He glanced up sharply as the rocks clunked together, pausing in his humming to listen for any sort of movement.

For one heart-stopping moment, he heard the bed creak as someone rolled slightly, then…

Nothing. With a silent sigh of relief, Snotlout saw that the candle had caught on his first try.

He was getting better at this.

Setting the stones back where they belonged, Snotlout descended into the dark, humming once again. Tonight he found himself in the mood for a slightly mysterious tune. He'd been leaning towards the more mystic ones lately. They'd grown on him slowly but surely, he thought sourly. Like fungus on a rock.

Grabbing the first piece of meat he saw – the cellar was cold and he was tired and just didn't care at this point – Snotlout booked it for the fire, not even bothering to grab a plate. He simply jammed the half-frozen meat on a stick and practically stuck it into the fire, willing it to cook as fast as it could.

Yeah. His life pretty much royally sucked right now. Moodily, he leaned his head on his hand, letting the fire entrance his tired eyes. He couldn't wait to get out of this stinkin' house. He was going to be a Viking mercenary. That would be awesome. Plenty of Berkians left Berk to become dragon-killers for hire.

But to do that, he had to kill dragons. Get a really nice dragon-slaying record going on and all that. He absently fingered the growing collection of spikes on his left armguard. The first one was the horn of a Nadder – his first kill. The beast had been a purplish shade of blue, about 18 feet tall, and well into its prime, but not too old. Fairly impressive, but not impressive enough.

There were a couple of Gronkle teeth on it as well. Gronkles were, in all honesty, the easiest ones to take down. Slow and lumbering, one only needed a sharp weapon, bulging muscles, and an awareness of its vulnerable spot, where the jaws hooked together, and Snotlout had all of those.

He fingered his three favorite spikes, the Monstrous Nightmare horns that encircled his wrist.

Now if he could just get a Zippleback on there, and a good story behind it, he'd be in the big leagues. The only other person in their group who had as many kills as he did was Astrid, but that was to be expected – she was Astrid after all. She would have made an epic dragon slayer, traveling the world with a bloodied axe in one hand, her braid fluttering over her shoulder, her lithe figure outlined by the sunset behind her as she stood on the top of a craggy peak, fearless in the face of the horizon…

Snotlout sniffed the chicken. It was almost done.

The dream was nice, but dreams were stupid so Snotlout stuck with fact:

If he could keep up his current average of kills a month, in half a year he'd have enough experience to be considered a full-fledged Slayer despite his age, and he'd be in the top ten percentile according to Fishlegs. He'd be set.

In the meantime, he snuck into his house at night, requested the worst nightwatch shifts available, made sure to harvest trees in the most inaccessible places on the island, and generally avoided his father as much as he possibly could. It was cowardly, it was depressing, it made him mad, and on that note, he tossed his bones away and headed for his loft.

Just before he settled down for the night, he pulled out the sheepskin and charcoal from under his bed. The charcoal was embedded in a piece of wood, a stupid little thing he had snatched away from his cousin years upon years ago. Now he used it to scratch off one more square on the skin. About a third of them remained, but he took comfort in the black two-thirds. He rubbed a finger over the figures and hard-worked arithmetic that surrounded the boxes.

After a second, he rolled it all up again and hid it back under his bed where his dad would never see it. Then he pulled the covers up, blew out the candle, and closed his eyes, out faster than the vanishing light.

 **Welcome back to Berk! Man, all these people with daddy issues. The chapter's short, I know, and I'm sorry, but when there's nothing else to say, it's better to just say nothing. I couldn't add anything to this without making it drag or turning to a completely different topic and ruining the atmosphere.**

 **Thanks to all you readers! And for the fabulous reviewers:**

 **Anonymous Noob the 2nd - Thanks! My pleasure. Sadly, there is no real Hicstrid. While I cheer the couple in canon, Hiccup is too embittered and Astrid is too close-minded in this AU to ever have a happy ever after, and I wouldn't have fun writing an unhappy union. (And I've always thought Ruffcup would be an interesting item.)**

 **NightsAnger - Hmm. I thought you only had to be familiar with Thor and Loki, which have become such pop culture figures they were mainstream? Well if it didn't work it didn't work. Can't say I particularly enjoyed the research that went into Loki's explanation anyway so I'll leave that to the historians. Thanks for telling me. On another note, neither of those theories is correct. I think the first one repels me as much as everybody else!**

 **Stripesicles222 - Ha! Just imagine great globs of glue dripping down the great Viking Chief as he's getting fixed. Poor Stoick XD**

 **Aiacco - Why thank you :) A Picasso!Stoick is a fabulous image, wish I had thought of that! But it still wouldn't happen because the whole point is to make people NOT run for the waves. (And for Loki to make some profit. Maybe.)**

 **Lazy to sign in - Well that's one way of putting it! Berk is Berk, drab, dangerous, and unhappy, and the afterlife just reads like crack because...well, all I know is the realm of the gods shouldn't be like earth at all so some elements from Pirates of the Caribbean, Treasure Planet, and Hercules collided. I'll be switching back and forth until Stoick and Runi make it back to the land of the living and then that should be the end of the drugs.**


	7. Chapter 7

Now, traditionally, the Chief's ceremony took place immediately, rain or shine, blizzard or breeze, lightning strike, nugget-sized hail storm, volcanic eruption, Ragnarok, whatever. Immediately meant immediately and the miniscule but momentous ritual happened _immediately_.

Except hers hadn't happened at all.

Day Two was coming to a close and lo and behold, Astrid hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of Gothi's old grey hair. In fact, no one had seen the mysterious Elder who seemed to be present at all the right moments and then evaporated into thin air the rest of their lives. And while she grudgingly admitted that it was probably the Elder's own decision to not show herself when duty called (because no one messed with the wisewoman who could weave your very fate)…while it was the Elder's decision, Astrid was kind of really sure it was actually the _Hiccup_ in the system to blame.

She stabbed viciously at a piece of meat in her bowl of stew, ignoring and ignored by the loud bustle Vikings made in the Great Hall come náttmál. People settled down in close-knit groups, lined up elbow to elbow down the tables, and she caught the eye of Snotlout as he entered the Hall, nodding in a vague sort of greeting/weary expectation/grudging invitation to sit by her once he got his food. He seemed to pick up on her edgy mood from across the room and gave a noncommittal half-shrug.

Fine. Astrid went back to devouring her soup, immediately lost once again in her sour thoughts.

Hiccup…her hands tightened around the spoon…She didn't know why, exactly, he was denying her her ceremony. But she could name so many reasons that one had to be right.

Bottom line, useless men always tried to snatch power they didn't deserve. The half-troll was probably hoping to usurp the position that she had been trusted with, her, not him! Oh, how she would love to march up to him and throw him around some with her ax, demand that he let go of those delusions and STOP dragging Berk down. She had a whole speech for him lined up. She spat the words out in her head, envisioning his face at each one.

He was like a nasty little Terrible Terror, clinging to the edge of his father's cape to hitch a ride to the top of the Nest above the worthy men and women. He was as selfish and greedy as a draconic king, as despicable and irresponsible as Loki the Trickster. He was a slimy, blood-sucking parasite she wouldn't care enough about to squish with the heel of her boot, wouldn't want to even step on in the first place. You are a disgrace, she would say. Remember everything you did, how many times you razed Berk to the ground, practically gave our food away to those monsters, created impossible messes for your father to clean up…you are the biggest disgrace Berk's ever seen.

It was, she admitted, downright vicious of her. It was also, however, all quite truthful of her. The only reason Berk wasn't a lifeless piece of rock at the bottom of the ocean right now was because Chief had always been there to pull off some impossible quick fix. He was – had been – an, or really, _the_ expert.

But now, he _wasn't_ _here_.

In a blink, Astrid flicked her head, making the thick braid that had nearly been dangling into her stew land with a heavy, satisfying thump behind her back.

Hiccup, she backtracked, refusing to think such powerful thoughts in the publicity of the Great Hall, had every reason to prevent her from being chief. Not that she hadn't been chief over the past few days, because she had certainly acted like it, and people were definitely treating her like it, but she didn't have the Title. And that bothered her. She hadn't actually been given the Right to settle the arguments she was settling or the Right to make the decisions she was making. She didn't have the Right to lead Berk the way she was doing…that, by default, currently belonged to _Hiccup_.

And that left the question, when was this dweeb going to hand the Chiefdom over to her? Astrid loathed how the words rang like a cracked bell in her head, asked by an impatient power monger instead of an honorable leader. She could never say it out loud – any politician could use it to chip away at the village's faith in her, twisting the stage so that Hiccup was the righteous player and she the selfish one.

It would give Hiccup a damn good opening.

So she sat tight on her stool, seething inwardly like a boiling ocean, itching to move forward, to make progress, _to get that Odin-forsaken ceremony out of the way so she could actually do what Chief had WANTED her to do_. Had TRUSTED her to do.

She took another mouthful of stew, face expressionless.

She didn't want that trust to be misplaced.

"Whoa! Bad mood?" Tuffnut asked, sinking into his seat across from her. He raised a hand to casually yank on Ruffnut's braid so she fell onto the seat beside her brother and earned a sharp flick to the ear that made him yell.

Astrid's sharp gaze returned to her stew. "Just lost in thought," she answered curtly.

The mere word made Tuffnut wrinkle his nose in distaste. "Ugh. I remember when that happened to me. It was terrible. Why would you want to get lost in _that?_ "

Ruffnut gave an ugly sneer. "That never happened to you."

"Did too! I got so lost, I couldn't walk straight for days!" Tuffnut declared.

"You don't have enough thoughts to get lost in, muttonhead!" Ruffnut shot right back.

And so on.

Astrid's already tense nerves stretched a little further. How, how, she despaired, were these people her colleagues?

"You guys are 19 now," she informed them.

"Are we?" Tuffnut turned to his twin, looking puzzled

"Yep," Ruffnut confirmed. "Born nineteen years, eleven months, seventeen days, and two hours ago. On a dark and stormy night."

Astrid ignored that; she was used to far more bizarre things coming out of the Nuts' mouths. "Look, you're nineteen. You are adults. Don't you think it's past time you grew up?"

Tuffnut stared at her, aghast. "Grow up? What?"

Ruffnut mirrored her brother's look, staring at Astrid as though the golden blonde girl was the crazy one.

"…Never mind."

Absolutely disgusted, Astrid went back to her half-eaten stew, taking a hearty bite that effectively ended all conversations with her, and not for the first time, Astrid silently wondered if these people could really be called her friends anymore.

"Die, die, DIE!" Ruffnut cackled as she poked holes into her brother's stew, popping the vegetables that got stuck on her fork into her mouth.

Tuffnut sneered, nailing her in the nose with a flying carrot courtesy of his fork-turned-slingshot.

Astrid eyed them, staying quiet. Violent, highly adept in a fight, but incapable of understanding anything from 'when the dragons raid, it's bad because we don't have as much to eat during the winter and subsequently starve to death' to 'things fall when you drop them.' They lived in their own nutty, upside-down world and just couldn't seem to get a grasp on the reality that was Berk. Most days it made Astrid want to scream with frustration.

The table jumped, sloshing their stews and making Tuffnut half snort, half choke on his spoonful. Ruffnut snickered.

"Wha-! Oh, hey, guys!" Fishlegs grinned, finally looking up from the book that seemed to grow bigger once it was out of his giant hands and on the table. The twins sneered at it with distaste together. Meanwhile Fishlegs set his plate, heaping with chicken drumsticks and stuffing, on the table with a clatter and plopped down onto the bench beside Astrid.

"Hello, Fishlegs," she replied dutifully, more out of habit than anything else.

Tuffnut hit Fishlegs in the face with a perfect bulls-eye. Ruffnut cackled again, stealing more of her brother's stew despite the fact that her own was untouched and steaming.

Fishlegs was perhaps the only person besides her to understand Berk's situation – but Fishlegs was the geekiest, nerdiest, biggest, well, _coward_ Astrid knew. He was perfectly content to sit behind his stacks of books and let everyone else handle the problems. She couldn't tell if he wasn't ready to be an adult or if he just didn't want to be one.

"Move over, man. Hello, Love."

Gods, Astrid almost puked. It was one of _those_ nights. Like her day hadn't been horrible enough already.

She could sum up Snotlout in two words: brawny and stupid. Convinced that his muscles could get him anything he wanted, Snotlout thought constantly about killing dragons and getting laid. And Astrid had broken his bones for it. Several times.

The shortest but most impressive member of their group sat on the edge of the bench by Tuffnut and shoved the twins down so he was sitting right across from 'Love.' Ruffnut smacked her brother in response and thus began a full-out catfight between the twins.

Snotlout shook his head. "And this is why you don't get any ladies, Tuff. You act like a juvenile. The women like a man," he puffed up with pride. Astrid pointedly focused on her rapidly diminishing stew instead of his wink.

"Actually," Fishlegs droned enthusiastically, "we're all technically still juveniles mentally." He eyed the twins, pulling his book protectively to his side and out of range of flying stew. "While physically, we mature in the early to mid- teenage years-"

"Yeah, I can't hear you over the sound of a mature man eating!" Snotlout called across the table, digging into his meal in a grotesque way that made Astrid lose her formerly heart appetite.

Maybe part of it was how alone she felt.

She cared. She really did. They weren't bad people, and they really had been her friends at some point.

But at this point, they weren't the fire brigade anymore. They weren't the fresh blood in dragon training or the extra hands chopping wood for the winter. They were supposed to be adults. Odin's ghost, she was the Chief!

(Basically.)

Snotlout leaned over his bowl to send her that flirtatious smile that wasn't half as attractive as he thought. "Hey, Babe-Argh!"

His face met his stew.

 _Smack!_ "Cheek-ouch!"

 _Thwap!_ "Witch!"

 _Plop!_ "You know, I would deeply appreciate it if you would stop throwing food all over the plac-EE! My BOOK!"

She wasn't lonely. She _wasn't_ _lonely_ because she was a capable, full-fledged, adult Viking entering her prime, but sitting in the midst of her frivolous, cowardly, naïve, ignorant, immature…the list went on, but sitting in the midst of her childhood friends, Astrid was indeed very alone.

 **So I kind of realized I have more Berk events than cosmic events before the two intersect so here's Berk again. Hope you guys enjoyed another peak at Astrid's thoughts.**

 **Thanks for reading! And for reviewing Oh Glorious Ones :)**

 **Iris Patton - Yeah, one nice thing about HTTYD is that there are a lot of characters. It makes it a much rounder and more interesting world. Bad thing is that it means I'm jumping around a lot to give each character their piece.**

 **Lazy - Well if you're reading this comment...I am totally not offended. I get that we all have things we're into and things we're not.**

 **Guest 1 - Agreed. Hicstrid is so sweet in HTTYD2. Astrid started growing in a completely different direction after HTTYD1 and I love it.**

 **Guest 2 - As long as it's judiciously used (I've got a fair bit in this story myself cause adults + danger = cursing). She most definitely treats her peers poorly, and they would agree with you. But it's like one of those group projects when all your teammates are slackers you can't trust. I'm not especially nice to those people, either.**

 **Kyndall - Thanks! That is really encouraging to me :)**

 **Guest 3 - Hm hm hm. Well it might not happen for a while...but it might happen ;) Can't say I wasn't playing with the idea a little in my head. And I think you'll find the other candidates aren't so intolerable as you think. Especially if you're thinking about Snotlout. I'll just drop the hint that something happened to him a couple years ago that redirected him in this AU (as his thoughts last chapter may or may not imply).**


	8. Chapter 8

The clouds were like a wispy sea and the ship – his funeral ship – floated in their midst effortlessly, bobbing up and down with every wind. It was disconcertingly akin to being in the fog that surrounded the Bestial Archipelago – no matter how hard he squinted, he couldn't make out anything past the bow of his ship. His senses felt clogged. His head spun. It was incredibly disorienting.

Thor appeared completely unbothered by it as he stomped off to find his errant son, the clouds roiling thickly beneath his feet and swirling away to form a clear path. His figure was promptly swallowed up into the gray.

Thus was Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, mighty warrior and demon slayer left all alone in the company of the Trickster. His gut twisted uncomfortably.

"Well this is perfect," Loki started, staring off in the direction Thor had headed with a gaze that would have made an eagle shiver. "I wanted to have a few private words with you before you left." Stoick felt his beard prickle as Loki turned that gaze to him and smiled so pleasantly Stoick's heart made a desperate bid for escape through his throat. The word 'private' echoed like a metallic clang in his head.

"About what?"

The Trickster set his magicked bottles down and leaned against the side of the ship, posture casual. "Just something I wanted to make sure we were clear on. Thor, of course, would never say this, would probably think it absolutely scandalous to even consider-" Loki rolled his eyes "-but you could say that I just don't have his good faith. Or really, that I'm just not as _naïve_ as he is."

Stoick did not like where this conversation was heading.

"You're his Champion now. Do you know what that entails?"

"That I complete the Quest he's set out for me," he answered after a moment's deliberation searching for Loki's point. It was completely escaping his grasp at the moment and Stoick's muscles twitched, his hands curling up into tight fists.

"It means," Loki corrected, "that he trusts you to complete your Quest. And do you know what he's trusting you with?" Loki paused, assessing Stoick with unnaturally green eyes – just a few shades shy of toxic green eyes. "His _son_. That's _his son_ he's trusting you with, Stoick."

The Chief was silent.

"He sees you as a kindred spirit," Loki enunciated. "He sees you as a father devoted to the protection of his own son – Hiccup, isn't it?" Stoick felt a surge of protectiveness rush through him at the thought of Trickster god watching _his son_. "And he expects you to do the same for Rúni out of some sort of respect for him. I, however," and here Loki practically prowled forward to stand directly in front of Stoick, staring him right in the eye, "I know exactly what you are, Chief, and I'd like to remind you that Rúni is not only Thor's son, but also MY nephew. And since I don't trust you with his safety, I'm going to give you a damn good reason to care about it. Are you listening?"

Stoick could do nothing but stare back into those cold, green eyes that demanded his focus, his ears…his compliance.

"If Rúni loses so much as a single scale either because of you or your Vikings, I will tear you apart piece by piece and then bit by bit and then morsel by morsel until not so much as a speck of the soul of Stoick the Vast remains – and I promise it will hurt, too."

The Chief was as still as ice, breath frozen in his lungs, honestly fearing for his very life. He had never felt such terror before, not even when he had heard the Beast's high-pitched shriek and felt the fire explode inside him, the agonizing pain drowning out everything except urgency.

The Trickster stood straight again and broke their stare-off, allowing Stoick to slump against the rail. He grappled with himself to regain some sense of calm, some self-control in the suffocating fog with the deity who…the deity...Stoick turned away, gazing into the fog as well.

Thor help him.

"-sorry I'm not well-acquainted with the layout of your _moat_ , Dad-" a faint voice said.

"You found your way well enough the first time," answered another.

"The _first_ time, all I had to do was fly straight until I hit a wall and then follow the wall to the door! The _second_ time, I had no direction to follow and to top it all off, Uncle's doing his weird fog trick agai-!"

A gusty sigh. The clouds swirled. "Hush, Rúni. The reason I asked your uncle to do that was to prevent anyone from discovering this. Don't detract from his efforts by shouting for all Asgard to hear." Stoick felt an immense wave of relief swell up inside him when Thor stepped out of the clouds and onto the deck, although he did keep a careful eye on the black shadow that hovered above the god's head. At the moment, however, Stoick would feel safer with his head in the beast's mouth than anywhere in a ten foot radius of Loki.

Meanwhile, the god of mischief had seemingly returned to his more light-hearted, snarky self, cold-blooded threat forgotten. "Okay, Thor, time to get these two on the Road," Loki said, clapping his hands together. "Chop chop!"

Thor paused, placing a hand on his belt where his famous hammer hung, before appearing to come to a resolve. "Very well. Stoick, it is customary for a Champion to receive a gift from the benefactor of his Quest. I have decided," Thor said, eyes closing in just a moment of indecision, a tiny fraction of a minute of hesitation, "…to give you Mjolnir."

Loki levelled a deadpanned stare at his brother. "You're kidding."

Stoick felt much the same way, shocked speechless. The weapon Thor pulled from the depths of his cloak was beautiful. The shape of the metal head was absolutely pristine. The wood was polished to smooth perfection, and with a leather strap, the hammer was a deadly killing machine. Stoick hardly dared to wrap his fingers around the handle, the shape of the wood fitting into his fist like a newborn in their mother's arms. "Amazing," the Chief breathed.

Thor smiled proudly. "She is."

"Do you realize how flashy that thing is?" Loki declared. The Night Fury watched from its perch on a beam above them, silent.

"Hush, brother!"

"Don't you hush me!" Loki stomped his foot. "One swing and Father is going to know exactly what we're up to!"

"There will only be one battle," Thor intoned, sending a brief glare at his brother before returning his attention to the dead mortal holding his beloved weapon. Stoick was still admiring her, turning her over and over in his hands, testing the leather, running his fingers over the smooth surface of her head. "Stoick, Mjolnir was crafted specifically for my special connections. Using her will bring a lightning storm to your battle and Loki is right – it will alert our father to your…misplacement…and he…" Thor struggled for words, "…really wants you to join his hall."

"More like desperately covets him to the point of stalking this guy's every move just waiting for him to drop dead," Loki muttered out the side of his mouth to the dragon. "You should have heard him going on about Stoick last Snoggletog."

"Creepy."

"Indeed."

"Father cannot know that you are dead," Thor reinforced, hands on Stoick's shoulders. Stoick nodded slowly in understanding. "Don't invoke his name. Don't even say his name. Don't even be around people who say his name. And remember – the moment you use Mjolnir is the moment your Quest is over."

Stoick hung the hammer on his belt with utmost care. "I understand," he answered quietly.

Thor nodded back. "Good. Loki? I take it you've given him your gift?"

"No. Hang on…"

Stoick tried not to shrink back as the deity who wanted him e _rased out of existence_ strode forward, jars in hand.

"This," Loki instructed, thrusting one bottle of questionable goop into the man's giant hands, "is to keep you stuck together. You might want to take a few sips every couple of days," he suggested. "And this-" Ugh, this was the pink potion, Stoick thought in distaste, "-is some lotion to at least keep you from _looking_ like a corpse. Also, if anyone gets dry skin, you might let them try some. It's a wonderful moisturizer."

"Loki! Stop marketing your products!"

The dragon snorted as Loki sent his brother a withering glance before turning back to Stoick.

"Let's see, am I forgetting anythiiing…nope!"

Thor raised an eyebrow. "What, that's it?"

Loki snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah!"

The backslap Stoick received from the thin god felt like a fly landing on his nose. "Good luck!" And with a pleased nod, the god of mischief sauntered off to the side of the boat.

"That's not a proper gift!" Thor protested.

"He's your Champion, not mine!" Loki remarked crossly. He bent his knees, looking ready to jump off the side of the boat and into the swirling clouds below. "Give him a second gift if it'll make you feel better, but I have a Guardian to distract!"

And with that farewell, the Trickster god sprang, throwing his arms down – and Stoick watched a very large, gleaming black raven wing off into the fog.

The ship stood in silence for a moment as its three occupants collected their thoughts before-

"RÚNI!"

Stoick nearly leapt out of his skin at Thor's abrupt roar – their words had been quiet for all the time they had been in the clouds, not particularly calm, but hardly louder than the common indoor voice.

"THE ROPES!"

With a single flap, the black dragon became airborne and then nimbly folded its – his – wings, diving down to grab a couple of thick ropes that Stoick followed with his eyes to the bow of his ship.

"I'll give you a tailwind as far as the Bifrost!" Thor called, leaping off the edge of Stoick's ship himself – although he did not shift into any sort of animal. Instead the clouds seemed to reach up to meet him, forming a spiraling, surprisingly sturdy staircase. "And Stoick."

"Yes, sir?"

The look Thor gave him brought Loki's words to his mind unbidden – ' _not as naïve or trusting as Thor_ ' – and Stoick swallowed, unwilling to look at the great warrior who stood before him and see such crippling traits. But the god didn't give him much choice.

"Thank you," the god said before disappearing into the gray.

 **And there we go, another peak at Stoick's afterlife. Sorry for the late update; yesterday was a big errands day and I had some savage writer's block. But I, happily, got through it even if the bit I wrote isn't as good as I wanted.**

 **Thanks for reading, favoriting, following, whatever the case may be - and thanks to reviewers!**

 **CajunBear73 - Well it does turn around for him eventually. Slowly. And I don't know, a lot of people ignore that he has Gobber. Not to mention, without Toothless and without training, going to sea by himself would pretty much be suicidal. I don't know if I see Hiccup as suicidal.**

 **Stripesicles222 - I am very proud of that line :) feel free to use it if you like. Maybe it'll become a common saying someday! Interesting troll question. Perhaps Astrid is convinced Valka was fully a troll? After all she probably never heard anything good about her and she never met her ;)**

 **thedeathwidow - Glad you enjoyed it! None of the above in this chapter at least. A few things happen before we reach Astrid again :)**


	9. Chapter 9

There were some things that seemed as timeless as Berk island itself, that had always been there and would continue to always be there.

The Thorston twins' propensity to fight, for example.

Vikings stepped smoothly out of the way, pausing here as the twins rushed past them, lifting a foot there so that the duo could roll freely down the hill while they bent fingers and pulled hair and spat insults at one another. Gobber patiently waited for them to pass, Ruffnut slamming her brother into the wooden pole face-first, before finishing hanging up his clothesline.

At the bottom of the hill, Ruffnut spat on the ground, trying to get the taste of dirt out of her mouth as Tuffnut stood up, dusting off his dirt-stained clothes and sneering. "Nice try, butt-elf."

Ruffnut scowled back as she nimbly leapt to her feet, dashing for the door. "It's not over, boot-sniffer!"

Tuffnut slapped her hand away just as she reached for the handle. Ruffnut slammed the heel of her boot on his kneecap. Tuffnut howled and hopped up and down. Ruffnut shoved the door open. Tuffnut grabbed her braid, trying to tug her back. Ruffnut jerked forward.

They both ended up sprawled on the floor at their mother's feet.

Ruffnut's mind already had a 'gods, you're fatter than a Gronkle that can't fly!' comment conjured to throw at her brother, who really wasn't that heavy but was currently on her back in a way that pressed her chest uncomfortably into the wooden floor and made her wheeze. Her brother probably had a 'gods, you're clumsier than a newborn kitty-cat!' comment or something like that lined up, too.

Ruffnut's mind shuddered to a stop though as she registered the other pair of boots next to her mother's.

Standing next to the immensely displeased woman was a stout man, leaning towards the shorter side. His helmet was made out of cheap metal that was adorned with countless dents. The horns attached to it were meant to look like a Monstrous Nightmare's, curved and dark, but Ruffnut could tell immediately that they weren't from a dragon at all – they were from a ram.

Instead of leather, his shabby armguards were made of the same string-like material she had worn growing up. His shirt had grease-stains down the front, some permanent, some new, Ruffnut observed suspiciously as she caught sight of the table with the dirty dishes and leftovers on it. And his boots were atrocious, with a hole in the left one that let a noxious smell drift out.

Ech the Six-Toed stared down at them – at her – for a moment before sniffing as though _she_ were the repulsive one.

"The meal was a pleasure," he told her mother. "Your daughter, however, is not. Thank you. I won't be coming back."

Ruffnut cringed as the nauseating middle-aged man stepped over them and out the door. There were approximately ten seconds silence after he left.

"You!" their mother growled, grabbing Tuffnut by the arm and hauling him off his sister. Ruffnut barely got the chance to revel in her un-smooshed torso before she was roughly grabbed and thrown onto her feet, too. Her mother instantly began trying to brush her permanently-stained clothes off, Ruffnut flinching with each sharp-sounding smack. They didn't actually hurt, but the tense, fast slaps let Ruffnut know that their mother was _furious_. "You two were fighting again?!"

Ruffnut's lip curled at how incredulous her mother sounded. But they didn't say anything.

"This behavior is unacceptable!" the woman hissed. Tuffnut went rigid as their mother started trying to comb her fingers through his tangled hair to get the mud and grass out of it. "Unacceptable!"

"That was unacceptable!" Ruffnut cried back. "Did you actually ask Ech to come over here to talk about marrying me to that-that disgusting swine he calls a son!"

Her mother's eyes narrowed. She was absolutely enraged. Ruffnut flinched as her mother grabbed her by the wrist and practically threw her away from her brother. Thin and weedy rather than muscular, both twins took after their father more than their plump but strong mother.

"Well you have nothing to worry about because not even he wants you!" she snapped. "Look at you!" Ruffnut stared resignedly at the warped image of herself in the metal pot. It wasn't good enough as her mother grabbed her chin and forced her closer. "Look at you! Your face is filthy with mud, your hair is dry as straw! Your lips are so chapped they're bleeding! You look like a sour bar wench!" Ruffnut viciously twisted her head free of her mother's grip, eyes simmering with anger.

She looked like Ruffnut, she thought. A very unhappy Ruffnut.

"This ends here and now! Go upstairs! Go get changed into something suitable! And then you come straight back to me, young lady, you hear! Straight back! And if you don't, I will drag you here by your horrendous hair myself!"

Ruffnut stomped away, listening as her mother began laying the whip, figuratively speaking, into her brother. The angry words followed her upstairs, losing volume but not losing any clarity.

"-start being a man! This childish behavior is unacceptable! You are an adult, and you will act like it!"

Tuffnut mumbled something Ruffnut couldn't make out as she searched her small clothes-corner.

"'Training' my ass!" their mother hissed. "Training is taking a weapon and practicing with it, not play-fighting with your sister! She just lost one of the last chances she has at marrying because of your disgraceful behavior!"

Tuffnut said something else.

"A SHIELDMAIDEN! Hah!"

Her twin fell silent. Mother must have been wearing that look. Ruffnut despised that look their mother seemed to give Tuffnut every single day.

"No, this is IT! Go get changed and then come straight back here, young man! RIGHT here!

 _"There are going to be some CHANGES in this household, and Aesir help me, you two are going to FOLLOW them!"_

Ruffnut's lips tasted slimy and her hair felt disgustingly oily. As if that wasn't good enough, she could still feel the pull of the ropes that had kept her shoulders tied to the T-shaped sticks of wood even though they were no longer there. _And_ , as if _that_ wasn't outrageous enough, her vest was sewn shut around her bosom, hiding the fair bit of cleavage that "only the mead hall whores showed," her mother had said in disgust as she snapped off the string.

She shut the door gently behind her, severely subdued.

"Hey."

Ruffnut's head jerked up.

Tuffnut stepped out of the shadows at the side of their house, a couple of spears in hand.

"What are you still doing here, lame-brain?" she scoffed tiredly. "Mom sent you off to get those sharpened an hour ago."

"What are you still doing here, cow?" he shot back, nervously twisting the shafts in his grip.

Ruffnut immediately flew into the T-posture – spine straight, shoulders back, chin set. The word curled through her mind. Cow?! Was-was she just called a cow? Their mother had had the gall to call her "damaged" as she roughly rubbed fish oil all over her chapped lips, to call her "impaired" when she burnished the oil into every single strand of hair, right from the scalp all the way down to the more-often-than-not split ends. "Incapable" and "weedy" and Ruffnut could deal with all of that because she liked standing against the salty wind that made her lips crack and the fights with her brother that were more important than learning how to poke at fabric.

But serious hurt lay in store for the moron who dared claim she was un-proportioned and ugly. Because she wasn't. She had a bust and she had hips, and she was fine the way she was.

(Tuffnut swallowed, the spears almost spinning in his hand now as he watched that all-too-familiar I'm-about-to-kick-your-ass-off-the-edge-of-the-world spark catch like an ocean of oil.)

Ruffnut's nails looked a lot like claws as she reached out to throttle her terrible twin.

"Ah-ah-ah! Remember what Mother said! You have to be" – and here he snorted with genuine laughter as he stared at the feral look on his twin's face – "a lady!" His lips curved into a smile anyway of their own volition no matter how hard he tried to keep his face straight. He snorted again. "You! A lady!"

Ruffnut clearly didn't give a shit as she followed up with a swift kick that Tuffnut danced away from. In summary, there was a lot punching and swearing and screaming and hair-tugging (and the typical we're-ignoring-this looks) and Ruffnut was finally starting to feel like Ruffnut rather than a perfect porcelain, stuffed doll, when her brother sprinted away in the direction of the market, the basket on his arm swinging madly.

She stared at the spear she had been trying to stab him with in her hand for a moment.

Then she bent down to pick up the other three her brother had dropped and changed her course for the smithy, a thrill of excitement bubbling up and spinning through her veins.

If Mother ever discovered what Tuffnut had just done for her, then may the dragons mercifully pluck her up and fly her far, far away.

 **Hey y'all! Welcome back to Berk, and our first look at where the twins are in life at 19 years of age in this AU. Also, I should probably note that there's a smidge of language in this story? I think I said it a little earlier in answer to someone's comment. It's pretty much what you would hear on a college campus. If people feel it should be bumped up to M because of it, let me know.**

 **Thanks for reading, and special thanks to the fabulous reviewers:**

 **Stripesicles222 - Oh my gosh, YES. She IS. I think I've figured that she's black-and-white and aware that grey areas exist but has chosen to ignore them in favor of a strong constitution. That's still not easy to communicate. Thanks so much :)**

 **CajunBear73 - If that's what you think of the village and Astrid's attitude toward Hiccup...then I am doing my job very well ^^. A few bones for the future...consider the fact (as we see in this chapter) that Hiccup isn't the only loser out there. Also, not a big spoiler but Hiccup DID receive training. The movie stays the same up until Hiccup finds the crash site where, lo and behold, there's no dragon. So Gobber convinced Stoick to put him in and Hiccup was as enthusiastic as ever until he nearly got his brains blown out by a Gronkle and then I like to think Gobber pulled him out because he didn't want to lose anymore limbs. Wish I could bake you cookies for your great thoughts :D**


	10. Chapter 10

Gobber was puffing and frowning and scowling all at once, and his face was turning the absolutely ugliest shade of red Hiccup had ever seen.

Hiccup stared back at him defiantly, with an almost eerie silence that echoed after his mentor's expected explosion, not daring to make a sound but also refusing to back down, because _no_.

He would not be swayed. This was a good decision, he told himself firmly, eyes narrowing a little further, and don't let him make you think otherwise.

("HE'S RIGHT!" a little voice, truly little, miniscule, weedy, sounding a lot like his seven-year-old self, caterwauled in the back of his mind.

"What do you know?" the twenty-year-old Hiccup snapped back mentally.)

Gobber continued to puff like an old grandfather fish and Hiccup could almost see the steam coming out of his ears like a bellows coughing out a cloud of smoke with each breath. The Viking was clearly gathering his scrambled wits about him, about to switch tactics from insulting his top-notch social skills to reasoning with him.

(Hah! Reason, Hiccup thought smugly. Reason, my friend. This was something Gobber would most certainly lose.

"You're being stupid and selfish!" seven-year-old Hiccup accused in his strident, unpleasant voice.

"It's not selfish if they win too!" was snapped back. "That's the whole point of win-win situations!"

"Daddy!" the obnoxious little waif wailed dimly.

Twenty-year-old Hiccup ignored that completely. Haddocks were good at that.)

It really seemed like things were about to come to a head, both Vikings tense and drawn up to their full heights with the master still half a head taller than his apprentice and more heavily muscled than the tightly coiled auburn-head could ever dream of being. They breathed in at the exact same time, Gobber with the great rush of a bellows filling with air and Hiccup like a sharp, biting wind-

When something fell with a harsh clang and someone let loose a startled and irritated curse from the forge.

Gobber's mouth opened and closed and he looked absolutely wordless, unwilling to say anything further with an eavesdropper the next room over.

Then he lifted a finger and jabbed it in his apprentice's direction.

"And you know what? You can start by attending to our guest!"

Hiccup straightened in an instant, downright shocked. His jaw fell sluggishly for a moment, eyes widening comically. "Wha…No! No, that's what _you_ do!"

"And clearly I've been depriving you!" Gobber declared, turning away and waving the lad off with one giant hand. "Your people-ing skills are weaker than your muscles!"

This was said in a more serious and less jovial tone than usual but Hiccup, a bit caught up in the impending Task of Hel, didn't notice as he immediately flew to the defensive.

"My people-ing skills are fine! Honed to perfection!" he denied, waving his arms around wildly and almost catching his sleeve on fire from the burning candle sitting on the shelf without noticing. "You couldn't find anyone with better people-ing skills in the whole history of Berk!"

(Fifteen-year-old Hiccup joined Seven-year-old Hiccup in his helpless laughter on the ground, his nasally voice carrying a distinctly derisive chord to it that Seven's giggling didn't have.)

"Then you shouldn't have any problems."

Except Hiccup would have problems because he was _Hiccup_ , Hiccup was sure. And he didn't need anyone to tell him that he really didn't have any people-ing skills at all.

Never had, never would.

"Uuuuuugh…I NEVER do this! Why?!" he demanded.

Gobber let the hammer-shaped hand fall onto the table with a more forceful thunk than he usually would. "Because if you think that THAT is a good idea, boy, you had better go out there and rescrew your head, the right way this time! Odin's Missing Eyeball, that is the most FOOLISH thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth, and I was with you when you were conceptualizing that blasted slingshot that threw around mushrooms of all the Thor-forsaken things!"

Now that, that invention, Hiccup recalled, was – is, he corrected himself – a complete success and Hiccup straightened with pride, very nearly sniffing. "It was a catapult, that was a highly explosive mixture, and I am a grown MAN, thank you very much!"

"They were mushrooms, it looked like a dinky little slingshot, and may I remind you, apprentice-mine," which Hiccup really was only in name any more but old roles were hard to leave, "that I am the master here and if I say you have terrible people-ing skills, then you have terrible, horrible, Odin-forsaken people-ing skills!" With an arm, he drew a surprised and stumbling Hiccup into a friendly hug. "But thankfully, you have good old Gobber to help you out, so stop waving your arms around and go-" Gobber thought for a moment. "Go learn how to people, you little troll!"

And Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, all six feet of him, was shoved into the forge by a meaty hand that disappeared back into the private room as quickly as it had come.

He wobbled for a moment, completely at a loss for what to do when his mentor tossed him to the figurative sharks, before falling into his default response that was, in fact, actually honed after years of dealing with the infuriating Viking who had, Hiccup knew, a heart of gold and, Hiccup knew even better, a tongue that the gods must have put in backwards.

He hunched a little and puffed himself up until he was stretched as wide as his sides would go. "Learn how tah people," he mimicked, waving a hand at the imaginary apprentice before him. The act fell away like a cloak in a moment, though, and he sighed wearily.

Really. This was getting old and he had at least another twenty years to go.

"Alright, hi-"

Hiccup blinked when his eyes caught sight of blue, not brown, eyes set in a face framed with the lightest blonde hair known to man, a color that belonged to only three people in the entire village.

"Ruffnut. Ruffnut?" He blinked again, the idea of Ruffnut in the forge conjuring up an immediate note of confusion and another, bugled note of 'uh-oh!' "What, ah, uh…" Ruffnut had never been in the forge before. Ever. "I mean…" His gaze fell on the spears in her hand. Customer business, obviously.

And here he was, proving Gobber right. Determined to pretend the inept, one-sided spluttering hadn't just happened, Hiccup regained his bearings as quickly as he could. "Hi. Uh, how can I…help you today?" he asked, pretty proud of how steady his voice was with Ruffnut standing there with a slowly widening grin like _that_.

Dear Odin.

Her grin widened a little more, showing off a few white teeth.

"Spears. How much to sharpen them?"

Hiccup jerked when three spears were suddenly flying his way and two of them fell to the ground with a clatter as he barely managed to wrap his fingers around one. "Er, uh, three pieces of copper a piece," he rattled off automatically, his mind already flitting through assessments and calculations. "So that's nine pieces of copper, and, uh…you want repairs on them too? Ruffnut?"

Ruffnut ran a finger around the rim of the cold anvil, not looking at him.

Apparently he wasn't as fascinating as a hunk of oddly-shaped metal, Hiccup concluded dryly.

"What's Tuff usually do?" She didn't bother to turn around, instead inspecting the counter behind the anvil and reaching for Gobber's tongs.

"Tuffnut? He…full repairs if necessary." Hiccup examined the spears' metal heads. The shafts still seemed in fairly good, if worn, condition. "It looks like one of them's busted up pretty good. There are nicks all down one side of the blade." That and running a finger down it with growing confidence showed it was as dull as a bed post. What had the twins been doing with these, beating up rocks?

Although, sometimes Snotlout's head did indeed qualify as a rock, Hiccup snickered a little on the inside. Stubborn, short-sighted, selfish Viking.

("Hypocrite," he accused himself, pointing with a disembodied finger.)

Anyway. "It also needs a very good sharpening, like the second one, and the last one is pretty hopeless honestly. The tip looks about ready to come off, so the whole head needs to be replaced-"

"Yeah yeah yeah," Ruffnut cut him off, wholly uninterested as she poked at some dead coals, dumping ash on the floor. Hiccup's lips thinned, but at least Ruffnut wasn't destroying the place, his practical side assured him. He'd take an oddly curious Ruffnut over a conniving one any day. "How much?"

Hiccup obligingly ran a practiced eye over the spears. "For a new head? A new head, it would be, six silver pieces, I'd say? It's a pretty simple design and-"

She cut him off again, waving an arm of dismissal. The Arm of Dismissal, Hiccup thought sourly. He received it so much it ought to have a Proper Name by now.

"Yeah, sounds great. What's the sum?" his customer repeated, moving on to observe Gobber's collection of hands, back turned to him.

"…"

Abruptly, Hiccup's world snapped into focus so fast it felt like he'd been slapped.

"Nine silver pieces and two coppers," he answered with professional promptness, daring to glance at her back from the corner of his eyes as he turned to his worktable.

Ruffnut shrugged again, gaze suddenly caught by Gobber's tongs hand. She ran her fingers over the uneven metal. "Just do what you need to do."

With a sharp nod, Hiccup efficiently set to work reheating the fire and began removing the heads. He didn't let his calm, down-to-business manner betray so much as a hint to the thoughts running through his busy mind.

Stupid, he scolded himself as his hands worked silently on the spears almost of their own accord. Stupid! How could he have let his guard down! Never again, he reprimanded himself. No more slipping.

But the smithy, Hiccup felt as Ruffnut wandered freely around the place, was his refuge. His _sanctuary_ , and Gobber was his…protector, of a sort. His…buffer? Gobber helped the village and Hiccup helped Gobber. Ergo, Hiccup helped the village. But only Gobber talked to the villagers and Hiccup only talked to Gobber. It was, Hiccup had long realized, a lonely way to live and maybe Gobber didn't always listen as closely as he should nor for the love of Thor could he say what he meant, but it was a life where he was never brushed off like some insignificant speck of dust on a shield.

Cough*RUFFNUT*Cough, he tried to broadcast telepathically.

The girl continued to ignore him, apparently determined to touch every single item in the room. Hiccup resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have a lot of reorganizing and cleaning up to do after she left.

And, Hiccup continued, switching his gaze again to the spears and determined to ignore her right back, Gobber didn't chatter over him as though he wasn't even there like Tuffnut did. Or pound his dignity into the ground (Snotlout) or stare him down like he was some lame, untrustworthy, useless wart the poor island was forced to put up with (Astrid's disdainful-at-best face).

(Or treat him like a hopeless hazard.)

(("Daddy!" Seven wailed again, muffled voice laden with fresh tears.))

Hiccup felt fairly assured that he had trained himself to live without the village, despite residing at the head of it, with a pretty good level of success.

Clearly, however, his…relapse…with Ruffnut showed he wasn't as well off as he had thought.

He banged away at the metal on the anvil with a vengeance.

But where did she get off intruding on _his_ safe place, he asked. That's what she was, an intruder! A nasty-

Hiccup's teeth clenched together as Ruffnut tossed something behind him. He refused to acknowledge her, no matter how nasty, chaotic, annoying, rude, and _intrusive_ she was being, poking around like she owned the place. The redhead glared at the cherry red iron, and even though he refused to so much as twitch in her direction, keeping his stance turned at just the right angle to scream 'UNWELCOME, YOU!' he still discreetly kept his eye on the invader, the silent outrage building in his mind. She was completely at ease, he could tell by the loose way she held herself, how her shoulders curved in a downright relaxed manner, how easily she reached for-

Hiccup almost threw his hammer out the window in his haste.

"NO! DON'T!"

Pure unadulterated _panic_ , hot and shocking, flew through him as he ran for the door, his breath shortening exponentially as the leather flap fell almost slowly back into place behind her as though to accentuate exactly how she was now _on the other side_. He threw it open again instantly, leaping into the tiny room.

Ruffnut, of course, continued to ignore him, enraptured by the small catapult sitting on his desk in front of his-his diagrams, his drawings, his journals, his _life_ -

Hiccup could almost feel himself slipping into a frenzy as she reached out to touch it. "Ruffnut-!"

"What is this?" She ran a finger down one of the supporting beams and Hiccup rushed forward.

"No! No, don't touch that!"

He swallowed hard when she paused…then removed her finger and bent down to examine his good-sized Smoke Slinger even closer.

Idiot! Moron! Brainless barge rat! I should have moved it! he yelled at himself wildly. I should have moved it earlier! Aesir, Ruffnut should not be anywhere near this! _She should not be in here!_

He felt…violated at almost the most personal level, seeing someone _not him_ standing in the midst of his den.

("OUT!" Seven agreed, voice rising like the screaming dive of a Night Fury.)

"Ruffnut! Would you please-"

"You know, it looks like some type of slingshot," she commented, hands on her hips in a casual, downright _unconcerned_ manner.

Hiccup stuttered, hands twitching to just grab the girl _and get her out_. "Yes, well, no, it's really a sort of catapult, just a, a prototype! Nothing interesting, it doesn't even work, really-"

"So it throws rocks," she concluded, staring at it with a confused sort of expression on her face before it turned to one of disgust. "Rocks? That's dumb."

Hiccup huffed irritably through his nose, unable to reign himself in at the offense. "Of course it doesn't throw around rocks! That would be pointless, now would you just-"

He cursed his tongue as Ruffnut's interest sparked anew and she lightly hefted the counterweight. "So what's it throw?"

"No!" Hiccup denied. "No, I am NOT answering that, YOU are LEAVING MY WORKROOM RIGHT NOW-Ruffnut?" His eyes widened. "Ruffnut! NO! RUFFNUT!"

"One way to find out, right?" she asked over his protests, smirking _that aesir-forsaken grin_ and Hiccup screeched, leaping forward as he realized that the weapon was loaded and her finger was resting right on the highly-sensitive, poorly-calibrated lever-!

SWOOSH!

-SSSSSHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhh-h`kht...shhh-PLBT..hh...hhh-kt.

The smoke hissed as it spilled, swirling into the air so thickly it was impossible to see so much as one's nose. A few hard-to-hear, unpleasant-sounding splutters announced the last of the expansive glop exiting its tiny and former package.

"…"

"…"

It, Hiccup dimly noted, his ears ringing with the deafening popping sound of the small explosion, smelled considerably better than it had last time. In fact, he couldn't smell anything at all although that might have been because the thick, clogging smoke was roiling around him so thickly that he felt he couldn't breathe at all either. By the time it had settled to about waist height – too heavy still to really match his vision, some unreasonably calm and detached part of him noted – he was still hacking and coughing, gasping in great bouts of air.

Someone else sounded like they were trying to forcibly remove their lungs from their chest cavity too.

Hiccup's expression turned dark. _Ruffnut._

"Out."

His voice sounded small and distant to himself and he felt far away as his face flushed with anger and his expression drew together, sharp and angry. Very angry.

"Out!" he ordered again, breathing raggedly. "OUT!"

He thought he was being very clear with the way he stood ramrod straight in the center of the room pointing imperiously at the door with a punishing finger, glaring like an impending frost giant spelling certain doom at her.

But as she slipped out by the leather flap, she was wearing a wild grin that made it clear that she was only leaving the fuming, mistake-prone and destructive inventor…only for now.

 **Hey everyone! Sorry for the slightly late chapter; we've got a hectic week coming up and I was kind of sick yesterday morning. Thanks for reading, as always!**

 **IMPORTANT UPDATE INFO: I will not be updating next weekend, because I'm moving back to school and have to adult for a while. Sorry in advance.**

 **And special thanks to reviewers!**

 **THEFIREKING - That is good to hear. Thanks for telling me :)**

 **Stripesicles222 - Yep. I have to admit, slightly inspired by my high school years, the Princess Diaries where Amelia gets tied to her dinner chair, and old stereotypes. :D I had fun with both of these chapters.**


	11. Chapter 11

The village of Berk all stood in the Great Hall like a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Everyone, from the smallest babe to the oldest warrior, was present, and it was very crowded. Most Vikings were squished up against each other trying to get the best view possible. A lucky few had rights to the best spots in the Hall. Among them were the elder Hofferson couple, Astrid's parents, who stood tall and proud side by side. Phlegma the Fierce, Berk's oldest shieldmaiden and toughest resident, stood behind Mrs. Hofferson's shoulder, hair up in its severe braided buns as usual. She put a hand on her younger sister's shoulder, murmuring something to Mrs. Hofferson who nodded with a smile. Gobber the Belch, Berk's wackiest warrior and experienced blacksmith, gave Mr. Hofferson's shoulder a friendly nudge with his hammer hand.

And Spitelout Jorgenson, of course, the final member of the Council, was at the front as well with his wife and his younger son, Troutrash. The nine-year-old was grinning, gazing around in excitement.

Snotlout grinned himself as he clapped one of his coworkers on the back in greeting, keeping a wary eye out as his father bent down to listen to his mother for a moment before frowning and scanning the crowd.

"Nice to see you here, Jorgenson!" the man ginned back. The rest of the loggers quickly swarmed around him, giving him hefty backslaps and welcomes of their own. They all stood at least half a foot taller than him, he estimated. Sometimes it paid to be five-foot-three.

"What, you think I'd miss it?" he scoffed.

One of the other loggers gave a little choke of laughter. "Oh, we knew you'd be here. Word's gotten around the main course is going to be mutton, the desert's going to be yak butter parfait, there isn't going to be a jug of water on the whole island – and it's all going to be for a lovely ladybird you've been singing about for years. What do you think boys, are they going to start tweeting a different tune tonight?"

Snotlout willed his face to not turn red as whistles rang out. He was so done with embarrassment, he had totally vanquished embarrassment, with his-! He huffed as the group sniggered.

"Naw," Groark continued, taking pity on him. "We knew you'd come. We're just surprised you're over here with us rather than taking a front seat with your family."

"Yup."

"S'right."

"You know I'd be up there if I had the chance!" the other loggers agreed.

"Oh pfft," Snotlout brushed off, flicking his hand out in a smooth wave as he tried to at least look cool.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit, was all that could go through his head even as he desperately searched for some excuse that wasn't the ugly horrible Truth. "I'd rather be here," was all he could come up with, giving away one tiny puzzle piece of the Ugly, Horrible Truth. Then his lips sealed themselves shut.

Someone smacked his shoulder. "Don't you wave that off, young man." Snotlout stared up, wide-eyed, into the sharp gaze of one of the more senior loggers, Mugroot Hoarkson. "Few people are blessed with a family like you." Snotlout leaned back as the senior's gristly beard scratched his face. "You gonna appreciate that blessing, young'un?"

"Eh…" Snotlout tried not to look scared. He really did.

The loggers parted, looking sincerely happy for his stupid fortune and giving his stupid dad a clear visual of his errant son. He didn't even have a chance to run; it took precisely two seconds for the eyes of the head of the Jorgenson family to lock onto their target.

'Get over here now,' Spitelout's gaze growled.

Snotlout's mouth twisted and he nodded, starting another round of back clapping but this time in not-quite-genuine thanks rather than greeting.

"Have fun, lad!"

"Enjoy that front row seat, son!"

"And don't forget to tell us all about _her_ ," the second logger emphasized with a teasing grin.

Snotlout gave him an extra hard backslap that made him fall right on the floor, to the delight of the other loggers.

Jolly cries of "Felled!" and "TIMBERRR!" echoed behind him as he pushed his way towards his father. It felt like he was pushing through mud. He so did not want to be here.

Troutrash gave him that big grin. "Snotlout's here!" he announced.

Gods, it was so wrong that it was so much easier to smile at the Hoffersons than at his own parents, giving them a nod in congratulations. They smiled back looking pleased. He felt a little of the sincerity in his expression slip away as he finally faced his family, taking his spot at his father's right side. Troutrash bounced in front of him.

"Son, stop bouncing around," Spitelout said with a glance at his younger son. His eyes then focused on Snotlout's and Snotlout had to consciously keep the corner of his mouth from curling down. He pursed his lips and smiled instead.

"You're almost late."

Snotlout shrugged. "Just chatting with the boys, Dad."

His smile stayed small as his father chuckled with good humor. "Man of the people, eh? That's wonderful son. Good to see you've got the right attitude. "

Snotlout just jerked his head in a noncommittal gesture, eyes front and center, as his dad jabbered on. He idly took note of the barrels upon barrels of mead lining the sides of the hall and the steam coming out of the kitchen. And something smelled delicious, like yak butter parfait, dare he guess. Which he did. If the rumors were true

"-hate your hours. You work so late-"

"Someone has to do it, Dad," Snotlout answered blandly, not really engaged.

"I did not name you 'Someone,' Snotlout, and the future lea-"

The rumbling that rolled through the hall abruptly died down as the Elder appeared with Hiccup tailing her. The hunched old woman was silent, as usual, the only sound her staff tapping against the hard floor. An unusually large assortment of bones and gourds holding gods-knew-what on the end swung on the head of the staff, which rose above everyone's heads. Her grey, almost white braids hung all the way down to her hips, knotted in their classic style but decorated with the symbols of the gods. The light from the fire glinted off countless metal clasps, many with the All-Seeing Eye of Odin, tastefully braided into her hair.

Snotlout thought that for once, she really looked like the wise woman carrying an ancient power instead of somebody's too-old great-granny.

The crowd parted respectfully and from the corner of his eye as he lowered his head, Snotlout even saw his father jerk his head sharply down and up. The Elder stopped in front of the pathway to the platform, letting her staff fall back to the ground in front of her. Ridiculously tall and skinny, and looking rather like a staff himself, Hiccup continued to walk past her until he stood right in front of the platform, the dark charcoal lines that marked him as the Elder's Voice standing out on his pale cheeks clear for all to see.

"Berk!" the Chief's son called to the silent crowd.

Then he paused, looking to the Elder and Snotlout wondered if he had forgotten his lines or something.

The Elder stared back at the Chief's son calmly, giving nothing away. The Hall remained silent and Snotlout shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable and inexplicably awkward.

Hiccup's face twitched slightly in what might have been loosely translated as a defiant 'fine!' and turned back to the crowd.

"Berk, who should I speak to?" the Chief's son began the customary speech. "Who leads you? When quarrels break out among you, who do you turn to for justice? When food or water runs short, who do you turn to for solutions? When tribes come to visit, who do you send out to greet them either with fair words or fists? When you attend the Gathering, who speaks for you? In war, who do you follow? Berk, I ask you, who do you trust?"

The enormous central fire only had time to give one crackle.

Then Snotlout jumped as a voice bellowed in his ear.

"SNOTLOUT JORGENSON!"

Snotlout stiffened.

The room was dead silent, save for a quiet gasp from Phlegma behind him.

Hiccup looked around at the assembly and Snotlout felt horribly jealous of how he didn't even bat an eye. He knew that his own heart was beating out an irregular rhythm and he could feel himself trembling as his dad thrust him up on a stage he didn't want to be on.

"All in support of calling Snotlout Jorgenson," Hiccup called, as was tradition.

Snotlout's mouth twisted as hands rose. What were these people thinking?!

Power, he realized with rising anger, as most of them were either part of or related to the Jorgenson clan. Each one had been spoonfed the Jorgenson motto from birth – Power is strength and strength rules all. _And_ the number of people who believed it was big enough that Snotlout, as was tradition, stepped forward at Spitelout's shove and headed for the platform, avoiding eye contact with every single person in the room – especially that of a simmering blonde, who looked more like a tiger ready to leap and sink her claws in than a bird of paradise.

Gods, he couldn't even meet his cousin's judging gaze as he passed. Him, Snotlout the Mighty, not even able to look at Hiccup the Weed. Now that was shameful.

He heaved himself up onto the platform with his arms, spotting the stairway belatedly.

Standing above the crowd, he could see his immediate family raising their hands in approval, little Troutrash shoving both up into the air with enthusiasm. Gunvarr the Baker, his uncle, and his wife and their children had their hands raised. Gunvarr's oldest child already had a family of his own, a huge one with five small children and one on the way, and all of them were raising their hands. The family in charge of the apple orchards, they were related on his mother's side by marriage. One of the families in charge of fishing- the Grakors? – they were from some second cousins.

The Jorgenson clan was really scraping from the bottom of the barrel, Snotlout noticed. Apparently having even the slightest relation to the chief was a tantalizing thought.

Then another group caught his eye – the loggers. They were split, with most of them raising their hands in support. Groak caught his eye and winked at him, looking proud. For some reason, that made him much happier than looking at his dad's raised hand and approving gaze.

But a couple, Mugroot included, kept their hands down.

Snotlout's gaze fell down on his cousin. As the voice of the Elder, Hiccup could not vote – a solid political move that hid his opinions and made him zero enemies, Snotlout analyzed. A smart move, because supporting Astrid meant severing familial ties with the Jorgensons and supporting Snotlout meant abandoning Stoick's basically adopted daughter. Lose-lose.

It hit Snotlout like a lightning bolt for a moment that Hiccup was really smart. Being an outcast totally sucked but he'd learned that outcast-ship made your wit sharper than a Nightmare's fang. Suddenly, he kind of really wanted to know Hiccup's opinion.

Of course, when he looked at his cousin, all Hiccup did was ask, "How do you respond?" with the damned best poker face he'd ever seen.

Then he looked behind Hiccup and his breath caught. The Elder actually looked like she was considering him from behind Hiccup. Him, Snotlout Jorgenson, the Viking who'd basically been a total muttonhead with his brain buried in his butt for eighteen years of his life.

And Snotlout felt like his whole fate was tipping. One the one hand, here was a real chance to become Chief, the most respected and powerful man of the island. He'd wanted that, for eighteen years. That was a dream, no, a _promise_ his parents had lodged firmly in his skull, and having the chance shoved into his face like this was tempting.

He could have everything.

But looking at his father's face made a second dream rage in him. It was the dream no one had told him to wish for but the one he most desperately wanted. And that expectance, that look of complete and utter control and power that his father wore like a grand, kingly cape, fuelled it the way oil fuelled a fire and made him burn for it like he never had before.

"No. I ca-I won't answer, that call," he announced, and did his best to sound brave and confident even as his father's face turned into one of dumbstruck shock and his mother's became one of cunning, like a clever gamemaster trying to figure out an opponent. "Look, I'm awesome. I'm a Jorgenson. I'm the strongest Viking in the village, the best dragon slayer in the archipelago, the most handsome man here. But there's a better choice here, and we all know it."

Snotlout swallowed, his arrogant front faltering. Now or never. Spitelout's face had turned from shocked-out-of-his-wits to impending doom and it foretold a miserable, I-wish-I-was-dead future – for the next five months, one week, and two days. But thinking of the alternative, Snotlout knew that his father could make his life as horrible as Hel and he still wouldn't ever regret this.

"But Astrid's better," he said for all of Berk to hear. He looked around. It felt like they weren't listening to him.

"Astrid Hofferson!" he called again, this time using his best roar and raising a fist. A few in the front raised their fists with him. "Astrid Hofferson!" he roared one more time. "I call Astrid Hofferson forward!"

It was almost overwhelmingly gratifying to hear the Hall roar in response, to hear such widespread approval and see everyone throwing hands, helmets, even furniture into the air.

"All in support of calling Astrid Hofferson?"

Snotlout could barely hear Hiccup's question even as he walked right past him. The Hall continued to roar in favor, but they dimmed out too as Snotlout tried to gauge the warmth of the reception he was about to receive from his family.

His dad's face was unreadable.

He still didn't like the look his mom was pinning him with, like a bird of prey pinning a mouse.

They wouldn't dare do anything in public though. The Elder was right there. The Hoffersons were right there. Their soon-to-be-new-chief was _right there_ , blue eyes fixed on him and under force of habit, without even meaning too, Snotlout automatically swung a little more swagger into his step, sending a somewhat-genuine, somewhat-flirtatious smile her way, just barely managing to stop a wink. He hoped the jumbled message was more genuine than flirtatious.

His parents wouldn't do anything now but still, instead of standing slightly in front of his father as he had before, he swerved and stood right next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

Because now his secret was out and he just couldn't muster up the trust to turn his back to Spitelout anymore.

 **Well that happened. Thanks for pointing out my mistake rpglady76 and Nixxon Mysterio! And I screwed it up on one of the most important chapters too!**

 **And Dan, sorry you feel that way. Why on earth do people hate Ruffnut so much?**

 **For those who didn't get to read the chapter's comments previously (because I accidentally reposted the last chapter and tried to fix it asap):**

 _ **So if the past few weekends of silence and the time of year didn't clue you in...I'm back at college! Yayz. Hopefully this is me getting back into the whole weekend-updates thing. But if I have a 10 page paper to write or a 24-hour experiment to conduct or 15 papers to grade or whatever...well. That's that. Wish me luck!**_

 _ **Thanks for reading, and especially to last chapter's reviewers:**_

 _ **thedeathwidow - Thanks! It is a lot of fun to write, let me tell you.**_

 _ **Elf Girl - Why yes it is :) Mostly because I wanted to try something original and explore a new AU. If it helps, just take the judgmental/wrathful expression Astrid wore for most of HTTYD 1 and put it on her face from HTTYD 2. Now that's ugly.**_

 _ **The dragon1010 - I try my best ;)**_


	12. Chapter 12

Each step felt terribly light and easy. She felt dulled, like the stone wasn't as cold as it should be, like the fire wasn't as hot as it should be, like the weight of the event, of her ascendance to the Chiefdom, wasn't as heavy or momentous as it should have felt.

It felt like she was missing something.

Stepping up where Snotlout had stood moments before was like cutting butter with a freshly-forged sword – so much easier than it should have been. She turned to face the Voice of the Elder, feeling awkward and unbalanced on the high platform rather than great or grand.

Astrid forced herself to breath evenly. Why did this feel so wrongly underwhelming?

"Astrid Hofferson," Hiccup started. She kept herself rigid under his uncomfortable gaze. It was sharp, and a beautiful green that reflected the firelight like an entrancing gem…Shit! It was just like the funeral all over again!

"How do you respond?"

Closing her eyes, she took a moment to refocus. It was hard to swallow, but the words came out just like always. "I promise to make sure everyone is safe, everyone is strong, and everyone is provided for. I will protect this village from the harsh winters that threaten to starve us. I will lead against any tribes who dare to attack us! I will fight against the beasts trying to destroy us!"

She meant those words, and tried to summon the kind of tingly, epic mood of standing out on the cold dock, swearing them to Chief Stoick the Vast. She put as much feeling as she could in those sealing vows.

"On my honor, I will defend our island from any who would harm it! Berk will never fall before I do. This I swear before the Gods, the Elder, the Council, and all assembled here this day. I, Astrid Hofferson, step up as Chief of Berk!"

But the words still rang hollow to her even as the Hall rang with cheers of approval, lost to memory far earlier than they should have been. Had she really said them, really sworn her life to the chiefdom? It didn't feel like it.

Frustration bubbled inside her as she tried to figure out what was missing. Her gaze swept over the warm Hall, the cheering crowd, the attentive Council, her proud parents. The room was warm and alive, the atmosphere perfect.

She smiled at everyone even as she frowned inside.

"Elder, do you accept these vows?"

The Elder frowned thoughtfully.

Then she stared at the floor.

She…Astrid's smile dropped as seconds stretched into a whole minute. She was hesitating!

Two minutes.

Then three.

And finally, Astrid felt something as the Elder actually _hesitated to accept her_ , something that made her fists clench.

It was inadequacy.

A niggling little voice whispered that maybe she really wasn't right for the job – how could a Chief feel so detached during their ceremony? Why would the Elder have second thoughts like this?!

What was wrong with her!

So caught up in the maelstrom of whats, Astrid just about leapt out of her skin when the crowd cheered.

She glanced back up. The Elder must have accepted her (she missed it, how did she miss it?! what sort of chief _did that?!_ ) because she was shuffling forward, past her Voice. Her ungainly staff suddenly struck the ground the wrong way and Hiccup jumped, mouth opening in a soundless 'Ow' when the butt of the staff landed squarely on his foot. Astrid may have imagined the glare the Elder shot his way.

…She probably did.

She didn't care one whit. She and the Hall waited with bated breath until the Elder stood right before Astrid and then gestured to the wood in front of her.

Still feeling too light, too numb, too disconnected, Astrid stepped down and kneeled, respectfully lowering her gaze as the Elder rubbed her charcoal fingers together and drew the mark of the Chief on her forehead.

When she rose, Hiccup the Voice of the Elder was standing by the table at the side. The Chief's possessions were arranged on it.

Stoick had told her all about his ceremony – the immense pride he'd felt when his father had wrapped the belt around his waist.

Hiccup – the Voice of the Elder – held up that very same belt now. It looked more like a gigantic, unwieldy scrap than the belt that had encircled Stoick's waist in his slender hands.

And instead of feeling pride, Astrid stiffened when he moved forward to wrap it around her hips, hyperconscious of how close he was. He was taller than her, his hair dangling right in front of her nose as he looked down. Even bound, she felt uncomfortably exposed and held herself perfectly still, her knee itching to knock him in the groin. And his hands were right there (right there! A hair's breadth away!) from her hips as he looped the belt through the ornate buckle.

Then she felt mortification.

It was way to big.

Hiccup didn't so much as brush her as he tilted the belt, resting one side high on her hip and letting the other swing downwards, like a sash. The fish on the buckle looked like it was taking a nosedive.

"We trust you to make Berk prosper under your rule," he dictated.

He was painfully proper as he picked up the next item. It was ancient. And it was so heavy he had to use his arms to carry it to her, gait wobbly.

It was the axe of Stoick's great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Skorchbeard the Brawny. One of the first chiefs of Berk. Stoick had called it inspiring.

She took the axe from him with one hand. It was unusually heavy, the handle thick and the head clunky. Very…primitive. Her mind's eye instantly conjured up the graceful curve of her own blade, the worn but sturdy handle, and the perfect balance. The ancient axe's head felt ready to attack the floor on its own.

It was…disappointing.

"We trust you to defend us with everything you have, to fight with us and for us with your fists and your words."

The final item was even harder for Hiccup to carry – he had to gather it up in his arms and all she could see of his head was a tuft of hair poking out above the fur.

Stoick's cloak had been made of bear fur. The pelt of a great, enormous brown bear, one of the last beasts on the island. It had been a salute to his fantastic strength and courage, and his commitment to his village. There were no more bears now.

The village had decided to make her cloak of wolf pelts, several all sewn together with silvery grays and whites overlapping and complimenting each other. And at last, Astrid felt something right. Sleek, elegant, but tough and ferocious. Suddenly this was _her_ ceremony.

She held her breath as Hiccup hung the cloak off her shoulders, pinning them to her shirt with two enormous buckles showing the Hofferson crest.

"We trust you with the responsibility of the village."

The hall roared.

"And," Hiccup continued, shouting to be heard over the suddenly hushed crowd, "we trust you to watch over us."

Astrid's heart skipped a beat even as her expression remained impassive. Surprised murmurings from the older Vikings echoed around the Hall as Hiccup picked up what was clearly a key – a very specific, a very familiar key that she clearly remembered as Stoick's key – and handed it to her.

Astrid accepted the cold key to the Haddock house, the house on the hill from which the Chie saw all, wordlessly.

Then the Voice of the Elder turned her around to face the entire assembly, belt slung over her skirt, cloak cascading down her back, ax in one hand and a key clutched tightly in the other.

"Berk, long live your Chief!"

While the rest of the village stayed warm and cheery in the Great Hall, getting down to the real business of out-drinking and yelling at each other in high spirits, Astrid followed the Elder out into the dark night. Thick clouds prevented all but the odd star from shining and after the bright fire and invigorating warmth of the Great Hall, the outdoors felt like a cold leech. Even with her wonderful new furred cape at her back, it still felt like the warmth was being sucked out of her, dissipating to nothing in the endless cold air.

The only light was from the small torch the Elder held as she led the new chief down – or up, Astrid noticed – a path that seemed to always turn right. The path was solid rock and with a jolt Astrid realized it wrapped all the way around Raven's Point, the peak the Great Hall was hollowed from. It was the same stone path she had run up and down on as a child, playing Seige. The 'Vikings' were confined to the path, their 'fortress', while the 'dragons' were free to roam. It was a game that strongly favored the dragons from a military viewpoint, but she remembered she had always insisted on being a Viking.

Still, she had never run all the way up the path, never even considered it. She didn't think any of them had. Now, as the village lights came into view yet again, and the Elder steadily headed up the path still, not even pausing as the smooth stone wore away to weathered rocks and grass and a small trail, Astrid saw that it wound around the Hall too many times to count.

And it led to the very tip of the mountain where the Elder's…hut sat. Perched, Astrid corrected. It was not what she had expected at all. The Elder commanded respect and was a highly valued member of the tribe but her home was smaller and even shoddier than the hovels where the less-than-privileged villagers lived. It looked to be haphazardly constructed with wood sticks propping it up in a completely random fashion. She swallowed a lump in her throat when she saw that half of the house was literally hanging off the peak.

And Astrid felt less than comfortable standing on the wooden platform in front of it. Great Odin, she could see the lights from the torch playing on the rocks under the boards.

The wind howled in sudden gusts, scraping her face and sending her cape fluttering behind her and Astrid felt even more nervous, feeling like she could be sent tumbling off and down to the stone entrance of the Great Hall at any moment.

But miraculously, even though she could feel the nailed boards vibrating unnervingly beneath her steps, the platform held. The Elder finally found the key to her house after fumbling around in the bird's nest that was the top of her staff, jamming it into the door and shuffling in. Astrid followed close behind.

And immediately banged her head.

"What the-"

It was even smaller on the inside than on the outside, Astrid swore. Gourds, roots, bones, and…other things – Astrid gave the strange-looking assortments an equally strange look – hung from the ceiling in dense clumps, eliminating any sort of head room. They were so low the Elder's helmet was practically brushing them.

A huge loom stood by one wall of the hut and the woolen fibers on the unfinished blanket shone a deep red and various shades of black and green in the dim lighting. She squinted at the piles, literally piles, of blankets that littered the floor, trying to estimate how many there were.

Of course with her attention focused on the impressive amount of blankets, she banged her head again.

"Ouch!" she hissed.

A noncommittal hum made her turn back to face the Elder as she used the torch to light the small fireplace. Astrid obeyed the 'sit' gesture the Elder waved at her, keeping her back to the door, as the Elder easily reached up and began harvesting from her odd collection of ceiling ornaments. Most of the ones she plucked were bones. A couple were webbed goose feet. A number were dragon horns.

Finally, the old woman settled into a cross-legged position with her back to the far wall and proceeded to ignore the new Chief, murmuring as she began mixing the ingredients together, dropping the bones in one by one.

The young Chief settled down on her knees. The atmosphere in the hut had become archaic, and Astrid's anticipation rose as her skin crawled. Each breath was a conscious effort as she became paid attention to each of the slightest smells, the smallest changes in color from the small fire in front of her. The air itself felt heavy, and the flickering light cast by the fire looked unusually vibrant. It was unearthly – and momentous, like her ceremony had been. (At the end.)

But here, as the Elder continued to murmur in a tone so low she couldn't catch the words, she could finally feel it.

The Elder was still unphased as she casually tossed the bowl up and upended its contents, letting the various bones and things tumble out in front of them. Astrid jerked at the sharp motion, the weight of the moment ebbing as the Elder stood up and began to observe the bones, tilting her head this way and that.

Finally, with a voice Astrid had never heard before that held a low and profound tone that crackled with age, or maybe that was misuse, the Elder began to speak.

"Something big is going to happen during your time," she began at last, eyes narrowed and head tilted as though she were reading something from the side. "Something very, very big."

Astrid reviewed every single possible scenario in her head, responses lining up in her mind like soldiers in a battle. "What? A devastating winter? A food shortage? We haven't had a firestorm as fierce as Frenir in two decades-"

"You are thinking too small," the Elder interrupted, soft voice sounding ancient and slow next to Astrid's energetic planning.

The new chief sucked on her lower lip in thought. "A war? We haven't fought with the other tribes in a century. If the Outcasts cause trouble like last time, we'll have to-"

"No," the Elder cut in again, voice sharper this time.

"Well what is it?" Astrid demanded. "Tell me so that I can plan for it! Tell me so I can do something about it, at least prepare for it!"

The Elder hunched over, pointing at a particular bone in the scattered pile. She locked gazes with the young Chief, misty hazel eyes holding sharp blue ones. "You cannot prepare for this. This is outside of your control."

Astrid's hands clenched. "If I know what it is, I can make sure we'll survive through it."

"But we don't know what it is. This is not a change in the way the wind blows or the migration patterns of the fish. This is a very intricate Event, the sum of a vast number of consequences of the many choices made by a great number of people. Including yourself."

"So I have some control over it."

The Elder evaluated her thoughtfully for a second. "Limited. Do not overestimate your influence," she cautioned. "You want to keep Berk safe. You want to end the war. In your time, both of these goals may be realized. But whether or not you succeed…" The Elder trailed off, giving her that same critical look she'd seen during the Hesitation. "You will fail if you make the wrong choices."

Astrid sat up on her heels, back straight. "And if I make the right ones?"

"You _may_ succeed."

"What?! May!" Astrid scowled. "Now wait a minute, if I-"

"The sum of a vast number of consequences from a vast number of choices made by a great number of people," the Elder reminded her.

"Fine. But then I can-"

"NO." The butt of the Elder's staff slammed into the ground – hard enough that Astrid jumped back to attention. The Elder was shooting her a hard look. "'I' is a very small word, Astrid Hofferson. You are only one person and you only have two hands. And, you may be Chief, but Berk is a very small place. There is a whole world out there that doesn't follow your rules, much less your orders. And finally, quite frankly, you are not the centerpiece of this Event. Like I said, you have the power to turn this Event into a complete disaster, just like anyone else. One missing sailor can doom an entire ship, one errant shepherd can cost the whole flock. One chief can wipe Berk off the face of the island with her actions! But you are not the one person who can turn this Event into a success all by yourself.

"You must _remember_ that," the Elder emphasized, standing up and banging her staff again, "and _act_ like you remember it, or else you will become your biggest antagonist."

Astrid stared, the cold seeping back in as she slowly rose. Goosebumps rose on her arms despite the almost uncomfortable heat from the fire.

The Elder nodded respectfully to her.

"Have a nice night, lass."

 **Labor Day was aptly named. Anyhow, thanks for reading and see you next week!**

 **Especially thanks to the glorious reviewers:**

 **thedeathwidow - Thanks a ton! The grey color of the characters is very important to me (at least of the main characters) and it's grear to hear someone appreciates it.**

 **Dan - Peanut butter and spiders? That made me laugh :) First off, thank you thank you thank you for keeping it civil and well-stated. Second, wow, that's some hardcore dedication! Third, I agree on hating forced separation but I hate it when people force Hiccstrip or Ruffcup together too fast. This story is a lot about evolving relationships (which is why HTTYD is so beautiful as a movie) and we'll see where they all lead. I admit in the movie, I think the flip in Astrid's attitude wasn't well portrayed. Granted they only have so much time, buuuut...well it's an interesting character study many fanfic writers have explored. Perhaps I will join them ;) after this story of course.**

 **Stripesicles222 - Let's say Snotlout gained a little hiccup experience on a camping trip with his dad ;) If it fits in the story, we might hear about it. I'm trying to make it fit. And yeah, Astrid has treated her peers like thorns for so long she just doesn't give him any attention at the moment. She's an independent woman! I can't wait for her character to develop here! Hehe. Poor girl.**


End file.
